


Silver Lining

by heuradys



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-01-01
Updated: 2001-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-08 22:34:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3225977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heuradys/pseuds/heuradys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim, Simon, and Daryl are involved in a plane crash in a remote section of the Canadian Rockies. Blair and Rafe don't believe they're dead, despite evidence to the contrary, and set out to rescue them. Things - and people - aren't what they seem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver Lining

'If he doesn't ask soon, I'm going to explode,' James Rafe thought, attempting to glare a hole through the shiny top of his partner's head before reluctantly turning back to his reading. 'Or,' he mused, 'I'll fall asleep from sheer boredom.'

"Rafe, you ready for another break?" Henri looked up from the miles of dust covered, musty smelling, green and white printout that was stacked in mountains on and around the large table in Simon's office, catching his sideways glance with a smile.

"God, yes!" Rafe marked his place and dropped his pen next to a scratch pad. "I hate this case. I hate this case. I hate this case. Couldn't they have at least changed the ribbon in their damned printer more often?" He pressed the heels of his hands hard against his cheekbones, trying to blink away the feeling that he'd be dreaming of lines of pale and blurry text if he ever got any sleep again. Outside the office, the night shift personnel of Major Crimes went about their business, but he felt disconnected from the activity, alien to the bustling bullpen in his tiredness. He glanced at his watch as he lowered his hands, shifting in the chair, vertebrae popping. Speaking of aliens... "Oh, hey, X Files is on 14. Switch it over, would you? It's a good one tonight." Knowing he was going to get resistance, he upped the ante. "Unless you really, really want to watch Matlock or an infomercial instead?"

H scowled, but did what he suggested. "Not the one with the guy who turns into a killer dog again?" he asked as he turned back from the television, moving his chair so he could get a better view of the screen.

"Hey, I like that episode!" Rafe picked up his coffee, sniffed at it with a grimace, and took a wary sip. Cold and revolting. He made a face, and H laughed, taking the offending cup from his hand.

"Refill?"

Rafe nodded.

"Well, you know my opinion on it."

Rafe did. Henri had been more than verbal enough on the topic when they'd watched the episode together the last time they had to work so late; he'd nit-picked almost every scene.

"You can't be telling me you believe shit like that." H turned away to hunt down his own coffee mug, finally retrieving it from between two teetering stacks of paper. "It's totally fiction."

Rafe sighed behind his partner's back as he poured out their old coffee into Simon's trash. They'd had the argument before. Every single time they watched something related to the paranormal. "That's not what I'm telling you. You know that. All I'm saying is that there're plenty of things that you think – that everyone thinks – that are not how they really are." He gestured at the screen where a female agent was explaining that the single ideogram adorning the walls in blue meant 'fox hunt', and suppressed a shiver of painful memory inspired by those words. "I'm not saying that I believe that the X Files has any real truth to it, but there're enough possibilities that sometimes, by design or accident, something on the show will be real."

'As real as I am,' he added silently, slouching down in the uncomfortable chair to watch the show.

"And Simon is going to kill you for pretending his wastebasket is a sink again."

"Like Simon won't kill us for drinking his coffee?" H snorted. " So, aliens and shit, you think that's real? I know you don't believe in ghosts." He held both mugs together, clattering carelessly, in his left hand and slapped Rafe's shoulder. "Just admit it; you watch the show because you're hot on the redhead... Scully. I know it's not 'cos of Foxy Mulder." His eyebrows raised suggestively.

Rafe laughed and, with a twist of mischief, sighed dramatically. "All right, you got me, but it's not Scully..." He dragged out the pause, waiting until H was a few feet away, almost to the coffeemaker, before continuing in an effeminate tone that grated on his own eardrums, "Skinner totally gets me going. It's that butch authority figure thing he's got." He batted his eyelashes in an exaggerated parody of the type of gay man who left him cold and snatched a crumpled, scribbled on page of notes from the table.

Henri laughed freely at that, and Rafe bit his tongue to prevent himself from saying something he'd regret.

"Like you don't already have a big, balding guy with glasses to yell at you? Should I warn Simon?"

Before Rafe could reply by hurling his readied missile, the picture on the TV shifted to a news report. Both men watched in silent shock as the newscaster almost cheerfully reported the crash of a small plane with passengers bound for Cascade. The paper tore in Rafe's hand as the photos of the passengers flashed on the screen, and the coffeepot exploded in a rain of glass, fallen from Henri's hand to the tiled floor.

~~~~

It was impossible. It couldn't have happened. There? Why there? If it had to happen at all, why did if have to be there? Why was the plane that far off course? Was the pilot truly insane? He'd have to be. No one flew there. Not since... Rafe shook his head, trying to dig his keys out of his pocket, clear the memories, and walk to his car at the same time. Change scattered on the garage's oil-stained, concrete floor, sparkling there through his welling tears. "Fuck!"

"You sure you're okay to drive?" Henri's arm tightened around his shoulders, stalling him. He met Rafe's eyes with tears in his own. "Don't want to lose you, too, bro."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine to drive." He shrugged helplessly, closing his eyes. "It's just hitting me is all. I can't stay here right now. And they..." He let his voice trail off, not wanting to voice the desperate hope that everyone felt – that Simon, Jim and Daryl were alive.

'Might be better to not even feel it, be better to hope they're dead,' the thought seared across his mind, and he shrugged again, feeling a cold that went beyond the purely physical.

"Know what you mean. Safe home, Rafe."

H's supporting arm fell away from his shoulders, but it returned with force in a fierce hug around his ribs. Opening his eyes, Rafe returned the hug, his partner's hands patting his back manfully. "You, too, H. When you go. Tell Joel... Tell him I'm sorry I couldn't stick around, okay?"

"You got it." Henri slapped his back one last time, right between his shoulder blades.

Rafe wished he hadn't done that, trying to shrug off the feeling as he shrugged out of the hug. Somehow it was a reminder of home, of the contempt he'd suffered there. Everything probably would be for days. His partner's mild homophobia, that slap on the back... Even the X Files.

He watched H head back to the elevators, sighed, and walked to his car. The scattered coins he left where they had landed. He rested his head on the steering wheel for a long moment, just breathing, before he started the car. As the engine growled to life, he sighed. One very important thing remained before he could go home, before he could try, just try, to sleep. He always had hated this part of the job, and knew he always would, but he had to do it this time. This time... "Fuck," he declared again, wiping his tears on his sleeve.

~~~~

Dreaming of quietly reading, Blair was irritated as pounding invaded the sanctuary of his mental library. The pounding got louder, and Blair realized, finally, waking, that it was at the front door. He blinked blearily at the green digital numbers on his alarm clock and swore. Jim should have been home hours earlier. Wrapping his blanket around himself, he shuffled out of his room in his stocking feet, wiping his raw nose with a mangled Kleenex. "I'm coming, I'm coming... Give me a second!" His feet slid on the floor and his trailing blanket tangled between his ankles nearly tripping him. He caught himself on the doorknob with the hand that held the Kleenex. "Gross. Damn, what did you do? Lose your keys? I didn't leave the chain on." He flicked the light on with his free hand, squinting in the brightness as he twisted the lock.

Expecting to see Jim on the other side of the door, he was surprised to find Rafe there, arm still raised to knock again, when he fumbled it open. This was Rafe like he'd never seen him, his eyes bloodshot, his skin pale in the wan light of the hallway, looking like all that was holding him together was sheer will. His hair even looked dull. Drunk?

"Rafe?" A chill that he couldn't attribute to his fever skittered down his spine. "Jim's not here."

Because there was no reason, no reason at all, for Rafe to be looking for anyone other than Jim. Certainly no reason for him to be looking for Blair no matter what Blair hoped. Rafe and Jim weren't exactly friends, but they were colleagues and had that closeness. What he and Rafe were he couldn't quite define: something less than friends, more than acquaintances, but not close. In fact, sometimes Blair thought that Rafe flat out disliked him.

Rafe lowered his arm in slow motion and shook his head. "I – I know. I came to see you."

Not drunk, Blair decided, just very tired, and obviously bothered about something. Wondering if his surprise was reflected on his face, he gestured for Rafe to come in. He closed the door, leaning against it tiredly, feeling unattractive and not a little awkward. The telltale tickle inside his sinuses heralded another sneezing fit, and he tried for a second to fight it before it took over.

"There's..." Rafe paused, waiting for Blair to stop sneezing. Blair acknowledged the courtesy with a wave and a nod.  
"Can we sit down?" Rafe asked, clearly uncomfortable, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"Yeah, sure," Blair said, and waited until Rafe had settled on the couch before joining him slowly, sitting with his back to the glittering darkness of downtown Cascade. "Sorry, I just feel like total shit."

"I – I'm sorry. Don't apologize; I'm the one who woke you. How high is your fever?" Blair watched Rafe's face clear for a moment, the worry lines marring his forehead smoothing a little; he was obviously thankful for the discussion of something other than the reason he showed up so late. So early, Blair amended.

"101.3," Blair muttered. "It hasn't gone down all week no matter what I take." He slouched in the corner of the couch and tried to brush his sweat-sticky hair off his forehead. "It's gotten better, though. It peaked at 104." He preempted Rafe's next question, almost snapping, "And the doctor says it's a virus and I'm screwed until it's over." He sneezed again, opening his eyes to discover, shocked, Rafe's hand nearly touching his forehead.

"Bless you," Rafe said quickly, covering the awkwardness of the moment, pulling his hand back and reaching for the box of tissues that was just out of Blair's reach and passing them to him. "You feel warmer than that." He shrugged one shoulder, releasing the box.

Blair snatched a few more Kleenex and dropped the battered cardboard in his lap. "Thanks." He blew his nose, then shook his head. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bite your head off. This just sucks. Everything aches." Rafe shifted, his hands twisting in his lap. Blair sighed, hoping he could pry whatever had brought Rafe there out of him so he could go back to sleep. "I've been so bored this week. I can't even read for very long. I wish I could have gone to Canada with Jim and Simon."

"No! No, you don't!" Rafe's voice was loud, and the startled, stricken look he shot in his direction told Blair almost more than he wanted to know.

"No, you don't."

A deep chill sank to his bones, and for a minute he struggled to breathe. Rafe wasn't there as a friend; he was there as a cop with bad news. "What... what happened?"

He listened, not really hearing past the first halting words, just taking in the information Rafe related to him, but it didn't really hit him until he watched a tear crest Rafe's lower lashes. The plane had gone down hours earlier, while he was trying to eat soup he had no appetite for. He rubbed his stomach under the concealing quilt and swallowed hard as blue potatoes and roasted garlic threatened escape. No one knew if Jim, Simon, and Daryl were alive, but the outlook wasn't good. Search and rescue teams were already hunting for them, for the exact location of the downed aircraft, but it would take time.

This time... this time Jim might be gone for good; they all might be. In a stupid accident. Pilot error. Freak turbulence.  
He watched as the teardrop fell onto Rafe's hand, beside his cuff; detachedly he noticed faint stains from other tears on the otherwise immaculate whiteness of Rafe's sleeve.

The anger and frustration at his illness combined with the terrible news overflowed as Rafe's other hand closed on his shaking, quilt-wrapped shoulder, and, for the first time in years, he found it impossible to prevent his own tears. He didn't have the energy to spare, and the lights of the room and Rafe's face sparkled and blurred as he let the tears flow, feeling useless and futile and tired and gross with illness.

~~~~

Rafe woke unwillingly to the sound of an unfamiliar telephone ringing, a crick in his neck, and the smell of truly good coffee brewing. Oh, the couch. Ellison's... Ellison's and Sandburg's place. He'd fallen asleep there after telling Blair the bad news. No. They'd fallen asleep there. He could still feel the extra heat of Blair's fever under the quilt he was covered with, remember the weight of Blair's body on his arm, on his chest. He blinked up at the distant ceiling, recalling how they'd ended up that way.  
There hadn't been much he could think to say to Blair after relating the bare bones information he had, hadn't been much he could do beyond offering his shoulder, his hug, as Blair's face crumpled and he started to cry. Blair, in his arms, had smelled of unwashed hair, unhealthy sweat, mingled herbs, garlic, and citrus. Blair hugged with everything he had; no quick, manly hugs like H gave. Rafe had found himself getting as much comfort as he gave. Blair's tears had soaked his shoulder, Blair's hand had splayed between his shoulder blades, and Blair's too warm body had pressed tightly against his own.

He sat up with a groan as Sandburg, his voice thick and harsh from the congestion in his lungs and head, answered the phone. He tried to straighten his loosened tie, gave it up for a lost cause, and realized why he'd dreamt of being slowly strangled. Wincing at the thought, the memory of choking out his life in a neck trap, he tugged the tie off completely and pushed the quilt aside.

"Morning," he mumbled and yawned as Blair, still listening to whomever was on the phone, walked to the couch and handed him a mug of coffee. He took a swallow, running his free hand through his hair, and looked at Blair in surprise. It had almost exactly the right amount of sugar and cream. "Thanks!"

Blair gave him an awkward half-shrug and a tiny smile before slumping on the couch beside him radiating impatience.  
"Put me on your do not call list!"

Rafe was nonplussed by the tone of Blair's voice, the anger he was directing into the phone.

"Fuck!" Blair muttered as he hung up, dropping the phone onto the couch between them. "I hate telemarketers who won't let you get a word in till they're halfway through their spiel."

Rafe nodded his agreement, wrapping his hands around the mug, feeling a bit uncomfortable now with the realization he'd slept with Blair in his arms. He let the heat on his palms replace the lingering sensation of Blair's warmth, trying to ignore that Blair was only wearing a sweat stained t-shirt and wrinkled, plaid flannel boxers and sitting just a bit too close to him. They sat in companionable, if uneasy, silence for several long minutes before Rafe couldn't stand it anymore. "You mind if I use...?" he asked, gesturing vaguely down the short hallway to the bathroom and setting his mug on the coffee table.

"Oh, yeah, yeah, sure," Blair replied distractedly, grabbing for the Kleenex box and convulsing in a bout of sneezing.

Rafe was halfway to the bathroom, moving slowly and trying to get the stiffness out of his legs and back, before the sneezing stopped. He looked over his shoulder. "Bless you," he called quietly. Blair didn't reply, just rested his unkempt head on the back of the couch and sighed audibly. Rafe turned away reluctantly, wanting nothing more than to go back over to him and try to make it better. He looked at his hands, sighed almost silently at their lack of healing, ran one through his own disheveled hair, and went into the bathroom.

After he splashed his face with hot water he felt more together, more human. He still looked like hell, he decided, but after – he checked his watch – three hours of sleep, he could at least function. Time enough to get to his apartment and then back to work... where everything would be different. Cold water this time, and that proved enough of a shock to prevent more tears. He took a couple deep breaths, used the toilet, washed his hands, and then met his eyes in the mirror again. "All you did... all you did, James, was fall asleep on a couch with him. Nothing else," he whispered. "You didn't... you didn't take advantage of his... grief. Why do I feel guilty, then?" He shook his head, sighed again, and walked back into the main room.

Blair hadn't moved, but he stood as Rafe rounded the couch to pick up his tie. "Thanks for... for... you know. Being here for me, for telling me in person."

He felt himself flush and tried to hide his uneasiness by checking his watch again. "I've really got to go. You're... you're welcome. I'll call if I hear anything more, I promise." He met Blair's fever-glassy eyes for a long moment at the door. "You need anything – anything at all – call me." Turning away to head down the hall, he wondered if adding 'anytime day or night' would be too much.

As he turned back at the top of the stairs, wondering why he hadn't heard the door close, he was surprised to see Blair still standing there, just watching him. He turned reluctantly away, leaving Blair to cope on his own, still wishing he could do more.

~~~~

Three days later, Blair walked into the bullpen of Major Crimes for what he hoped, still, desperately, was not the last time. Without Jim - everything would change. His observer's pass cut into his hand; the laminated edges leaving what he knew would be deep indentations in his palm and fingers. It didn't particularly hurt, as such; the pain of letting go of the plastic, and what it represented, would be far, far worse.

But it was still a mild pain compared to the pain the phone call that brought him there had inflicted. Joel's voice was so sad, so choked with grief and regret, apologizing for the neglect that he'd been shown by the department. Blair snorted to himself, still angry. Neglect. Part of it was his own fault. Both Jim and Blair had neglected to update the contact information in Jim's personnel file; Jim's next of kin was still listed as Simon. He felt like a wall of indifference surrounded him along with the virus that had laid him low for almost two solid weeks. He'd never felt so invisible, so angry and hurt at the same time, but he understood. He was not family, and the Canadian authorities wouldn't allow anyone to discuss their facts and findings with someone who was neither law enforcement or related by blood.

He was glad that he had made enough of an impact on at least one member of Major Crimes to have someone willing to break the rules, to risk his job and possibly more to keep him in the loop. If it weren't for Rafe appearing at his door that night, Rafe calling him as news came in from the Canadian authorities, he'd have no idea what had happened beyond what the papers and TV told him – minimal information.

Until an hour ago. When Joel had called him to the station to turn in his observer's pass and to hear the latest news.  
He paused just inside the door to take as deep a breath as he could without his lungs becoming public and tried to relax. It didn't work. He glanced around at the oddly quiet detectives and other personnel, feeling more than a bit shaky, suspecting what he'd be hearing once he crossed to Simon's – no, Joel's office. Temporary office, he told himself firmly.

He didn't see Rafe, wondered what his first reaction meeting publicly would be. It wasn't too awkward between them on the phone, but that morning... He swallowed a sigh. The only – only – high spot in his past week was waking in Rafe's arms. No, in Jamie's arms. Jamie. He rolled the private name across his mind, closing his eyes briefly, almost able to capture the warmth, the stolen pleasure of being held while he slept.

He'd hardly slept since those few hours, even with the illness still coursing through his system. The worry about his missing friends bled into his sleep. Strange and surreal dreams, redolent with fog, populated with talking animals, haunted him and competed with nightmares of the plane crash, leaving him exhausted on waking.

The very long days hadn't been spent only waiting by the phone for Rafe's calls. His waking hours had been occupied by unpleasant what-if conversations with William and Steven Ellison, the conference with his advisor, the desperate hunt for a place to live if... if...

He shook his head. No, damn it, he'd know. He'd know if Jim was dead. Every fiber of his being knew that Jim was alive.  
Opening his eyes, heart pounding, he started the trek to the office where he could see Joel, H, the pair of Ellisons, and several people he didn't recognize waiting for him.

~~~~

"That is such – such – such shit!" Blair's angrily raised voice greeted Rafe as he got off the elevator on the sixth floor. "You can't let them stop searching yet!"

"Oh, God," Rafe murmured under his breath.

He cursed the blown tire that had delayed his return to the station. He'd hoped to be at the meeting or try to temper the blow somehow. Just how? He didn't know. He'd read the report and had hoped to tell Blair beforehand what to expect. He hadn't managed to reach him by phone, and a trip to the loft proved fruitless. Blair's health had improved over the intervening days, fever dropping gradually, and he must have been able to drive again.

At least Blair would have heard the initial blunt statement from Joel. A small mercy, Rafe supposed. To find out from total strangers like Joel and Henri did? It was unthinkable if what he suspected about the relationship between Jim and Blair was true. H and Simon had been close, nearly as close as Joel and Simon. But Blair was close to all three of the missing, and he deserved to know every detail of what was happening.

Blair had to be questioning just why he was passing the information so readily; he'd worked at Major Crimes more than long enough to know just what Rafe was risking. He didn't know what he'd say if Blair asked.

In many ways he wasn't sure why he was doing it. Futile attraction wasn't enough of a reason; neither was simply knowing he was doing the right thing.

He shook his head, remembering the discussion he'd had with Henri about it after their first meeting with the Canadian officials.  
"Hey, I like Hairboy well enough," H had declared, "but it's not worth my career, bro. You do what you want. Just don't tell me if you're doing it, okay?"

He could understand his partner's reasoning somewhat, though it hurt. Henri had changed over the past several days. He'd withdrawn into himself as he and Rafe did an unproductive and entirely useless search through hundreds of files. Their higher ups had directed them to look for any possible connection between the crash and old cases.

The grief over Simon and Jim had shattered the department. Good cops weren't supposed to be lost when small planes went down. Kids like Daryl weren't supposed to have their brief lives snuffed out in stupid accidents.

If that was what had happened. Rafe suspected otherwise. Without his own knowledge of the history of the area and its inhabitants, he would have been heartbroken by the news. His thoughts grew briefly bloody and fierce. His kinsmen, he sneered the word, weren't supposed to play with the weather and kidnap people.

He wondered what Blair would think if he knew what he was planning. Joel had granted his vacation request without blinking, probably assuming he was going to spend the time at home mourning. Everything was set for his departure tomorrow. He'd only requested two days, not caring that his trip would likely take longer. Would he be back before the memorial service he was sure was in planning stages already? Would there be one for him if...? It was not the time to think about that; it was time to think about Blair.

As he hurried to the bullpen, a voice he didn't recognize snapped something in reply to Blair's outburst. 

Rafe stopped outside the door and looked inside. It only took him seconds to sort out the scene, and he didn't think anyone noticed his arrival. Joel and H were in Joel's office with the Canadians, door closed. Blair was confronting Jim's father while his brother, Steven, dug through Jim's desk drawers. Rafe bristled at the invasion of Jim's privacy. At the same moment Blair noticed, rounding the desk and nearly slamming Steven's fingers in the drawer he was investigating.

"Blair, you're supposed to be helping me," the younger Ellison complained, picking a heavy, marble paperweight off the desk and glaring at Blair. 

Blair snatched the paperweight out of Steven's hand. "That's mine. Damn it, would you stop it and listen to me? You can tell them to keep looking! They're still alive, I know –"

"Mr. Sandburg, just accept that Jimmy is dead," Mr. Ellison said, leaning against the desk, looking angry, tired, and old. "They found –"

"I don't care what they found. He's not dead," Blair gritted out between clenched teeth, pacing a short, furious path in front of the desk, his gaze locked on the elder Ellison's eyes. "They're not dead. Jim survived for eighteen months in Peru – in case you've forgotten."

Rafe was close enough now to see the whiteness of Blair's knuckles around the figurine. His face was still, very pale. Rafe had never seen him so enraged, and he tried surreptitiously to get even closer, unsure what he could do, but unwilling to let Blair do anything he'd regret. He felt like he was in the eye of a hurricane.

Blair, be reasonable," Steven insisted.

Blair spun from William Ellison to face his son. "Reasonable?" he hissed.

"Blair!" Heart in his throat, Rafe pushed past two gawking civilians, hand outstretched.

Before Rafe could stop him, Blair had thrown the chunk of marble, narrowly missing Steven's head and shattering the window.  
The bullpen erupted in chaos.

Someone screamed; passersby in the hallway stopped and watched the spectacle. William was yelling for someone to arrest Blair. Steven glared at Blair, looking ready to dive over the desk and take matters into his own hands.

And before he'd even realized it, Rafe had his hands wrapped around Blair's upper arms and almost had slammed him forward onto the desk in a movement of pure instinct, ready to cuff him. He swallowed hard, freezing with his hand on his cuffs, nausea threatening as thought caught up to action. William Ellison's cold, unpleasant smile of satisfaction made him wince.

Joel emerged from his office, took in the scene, and yelled, "Rafe, get him the hell out of here!"

Rafe exchanged a second's glance with Joel. The older man shook his head slightly, rolling his eyes toward the door in a clear signal.

Blair was shaking, Rafe realized, whether from fury or shock at what he'd just done Rafe wasn't sure. He wrapped his arm around Blair's shoulders and attempted to steer him out of the room, toward the elevator and home. Blair didn't fight his grip until they were almost to the elevator, then shrugged hard, elbowing Rafe in the stomach, trying to turn back to the bullpen.  
"Ow! Fuck! Quit it, Sandburg!" He grabbed Blair's upper arms again, feeling the tension in them shift as he adjusted his grasp. He swallowed hard again, still fighting the nauseous spasm from minutes earlier.

"Get your fucking hands off me. I don't need a babysitter, all right? I'm leaving."

"Not without me, you're not," Rafe insisted, turning them toward the door for the stairs instead as the elevator doors opened and he saw just how crowded it was. "If I let go of you, someone will arrest you, and you know it." His voice echoed in the stairway, raising as his own anger spilled out, punctuated by the solid metallic slam of the door. "What the hell were you thinking?" He let go of Blair's arms, waiting for the answer.

"What was I thinking?" Blair spun to face Rafe, his fingers thumping against Rafe's sternum with breathtaking, bruising impact. "What the hell were you thinking when you grabbed me back there? You had your hand on your," he punctuated his statement with another rap of his knuckles, "cuffs. I thought –"

Rafe grabbed his wrist hard, pulling his hand away. Blair's pulse fluttered beneath his fingertips, and Rafe breathed even harder than the two pains Blair had inflicted required. Blair, pissed off, eyes full of fire, was one of the most arousing sights he'd ever seen. He looked away quickly, hoping the desire coursing through him like sheet lightning wasn't obvious. "I was doing my job, Sandburg. You –"

"I was thinking that the damned Ellison family has given up on Jim – on all of them – far too quickly! He's fucking alive, Rafe! I don't care if they did find human remains!" Blair tore his arm away, tears welling in his eyes, and headed down the stairs.

"Blair," Rafe began, following him, only to be interrupted again.

"Not enough to identify; that's what the fucking report said." He spun, hair wild, and glared up at Rafe. "They shouldn't have stopped looking." He turned away again, taking a few more downward steps. Rafe caught up to him at the landing, but before he could say anything, Blair spoke again. "You all have given up; I don't want to have anything to do with any of you right now."

The heat of Rafe's anger drained away, and cold hurt took its place. "Fine. Go. I'll tell Joel I watched you get in your car and drive away," Rafe answered quietly.

Blair looked a little surprised, but took off down the stairs without another word or backward glance.

Rafe held the railing with one hand, sitting down on the second step. He was exhausted by his emotions and simple lack of sleep and didn't want to fight with Blair. He ran the fingers of his other hand over the sore spot on his chest. Right over his heart, he thought, looking sadly at Blair's retreating back.

"No, they shouldn't have," he whispered after Blair's footsteps faded from his hearing. "And I'm not."

~~~~

Blair knocked on Rafe's apartment door for the third time. "C'mon, man, your car's here. Answer the door," he muttered under his breath. His hair drooled rainwater down the back of his neck under his jacket, and his back muscles twitched as the droplets made their way down his spine.

A couple of Rafe's neighbors came up the stairs, overloaded with umbrellas, briefcases, and bags of groceries, and Blair smiled weakly at them. He felt strained by the effort of showing politeness to these curious strangers. "Hey, how's it going?" He received nods in return, feeling their eyes on him as they continued past the landing, up the stairs to the next floor. He sighed softly to himself, smile fading instantly.

He knew he looked like hell; he felt like hell.

Getting drenched to the skin on the way from his car to Rafe's building didn't help one bit. Glaring down at the wet carpet under his feet, he scraped a clot of gingery, mangled leaves off his right boot with his other foot and shivered. Winter was right around the corner; the first snow likely a couple weeks away. He shivered again, cold from more than just temperature.

He'd spent most of the evening on the phone apologizing to the Ellisons, Joel, Henri, anyone he could think of that he'd hurt by his outburst at the station. Joel's intercession with Jim's dad and brother had brought him a stay on immediate eviction from the loft and probable jail time. His checkbook was lighter the cost of one window, and his heart was heavier with frustration and grief that everyone seemed to have given up so readily on his friends – their friends.

If he heard one more word from anyone about the seven stages of mourning, he'd scream.

One apology, however, he had decided to do in person. One person had been physically hurt by the day's events, and Blair regretted that deeply. His fingers hurt from where he'd whacked them on Rafe's breastbone, and he could only imagine that Rafe's chest had to be hurting, too.

"Dammit, answer the door, Rafe!" Blair knocked again, sighed, and leaned his forehead against the darkly stained wood. He rested his hand on the knob, slightly startled when it turned easily.

"Huh?" He shrugged and opened it, calling for Rafe softly as he went inside. He doubted that Rafe was as edgy as Jim. But surprising a cop in his own home? That was liable to get him a chance to know how it felt to have Rafe train a gun on him. A small, dangerous corner of his mind wondered, hearing running water, if he could possibly be lucky enough to catch Rafe getting out of the shower.

He closed the door, careful not to step off the multicolored, hand knotted rug that held several pairs of Rafe's shoes and protected the gleaming hardwood floor. Realizing rather quickly that he couldn't just stand there, he bent down and wrestled briefly with his sodden shoelaces. Glancing around curiously as he did so, he toed off his boots and carefully set them in line with Rafe's shoes.

He'd never been to Rafe's place before, and he couldn't remember offhand if Jim ever had, either. It was not what he was expecting. Rafe's bachelor status and his dress- sense led Blair to assume his dwelling would be full of ultra-modern, black lacquered furniture, lots of glass and chrome, all straight lines with no organic energy to them. Thus, the comfortably and eclectically furnished apartment was a happy surprise.

A lot of mismatched wood furniture, deep jewel-toned fabrics, ornate bookcases overcrowded with mingled paperbacks and hardcover books warred with the more utilitarian entertainment center and won. He grinned. This was just the living room, he thought, bemused. If the rest of the apartment was decorated in similar style... His fingers itched to touch the spines of the books, to find out just what Jamie read, but he resisted, deciding to find his unknowing host first.

His eyes were drawn to a framed photograph sitting at eye level on a multi-tiered plant rack that had been conquered by the potted ivies it held, and he moved closer to investigate it, peering through the foliage. The small, bedraggled fox kit sleeping on its side on a large, dull gray boulder drew a small chuckle from him. He moved past the greenery toward the kitchen, pausing at the marble-topped dining room table that Rafe seemingly used as a desk.

More temptation. Rafe's computer, screensaver running, was surrounded with a litter of maps, files, chewed-on ballpoints, and half-empty coffee mugs. He looked at the random splashes of color as they dappled the screen, the open, leather-bound journal beside it full of Rafe's spiky, energetic script. He ran his hand along the back of the battered, leather desk chair, smiling absently at the worn places.

"Rafe? You here?" he called again, glancing into the empty, immaculate kitchen.

Deciding to forgo that room for the time being, he retraced his steps to the door and walked slowly down the hallway toward the bathroom and bedroom. As he got closer to the more intimate rooms he felt increasingly ambivalent about invading Rafe's privacy, but the lure proved too much to resist. The unlocked front door might mean something was wrong, he rationalized, and he had to make sure.

The bathroom door was closed, and the shower was running. He stood outside the door for a long moment just imagining what could be going on behind the white-painted thickness. The paint was slick and cool to the touch. He pulled his palm back hurriedly, astonished to find himself touching it. He blinked rapidly and hurried the few feet to the bedroom doorway.

He didn't go in; couldn't bring himself to take that last step uninvited. "Jamie," he breathed, "are you here?" as his eyes took in the room. Clothes were strewn over the forest green bedspread in seemingly random piles; a scattering of thick candles decorated the top of the heavy, antique dresser along with a bowl that was obviously a catch-all for the contents of Rafe's pockets; thick, velvety curtains shrouded the window.

But the object hanging on the wall at the head of the bed captured most of his attention. It looked vaguely like a dreamcatcher, but he knew it wasn't. He racked his brain trying to remember if he'd seen anything like it before. He had, he realized, but the rest of the memory remained elusive. Wood, bits of what looked like carved bone, feathers, leather, and some reddish fur were worked together into a pattern that made him want to keep looking at it for hours. His eyes traced the curves and contours, and he felt himself getting calmer, his mind letting go of the tension and frustration he hadn't been able to meditate away. 'Oh,' he realized, 'must be a relaxation device...' and let the artwork soothe him.

The sound of the front door opening brought him out of his reverie, and he started guiltily. He turned reluctantly away from the bedroom in time to watch Rafe, burdened with a brimming laundry basket and several other things he couldn't identify at the distance, enter the apartment and kick the door closed with his bare foot and a quiet curse.

Blair's breath caught in his throat, preventing him from speaking; arousal spiked through his veins. Sweaty and rumpled, Rafe was wearing a pair of faded, ratty sweatpants and nothing else. Blair watched his muscles shift, the lines of his body move, as Rafe looked down over the right edge of the basket, not moving, at the line of shoes and shook his head. Blair licked his suddenly dry lips, wanting so badly to taste the sweat, the skin of Rafe's shoulder, the exposed nape of his neck. He felt frozen in place, himself, as Rafe set down the basket, took a few things off the top, and moved into the living room.

Released from his stasis, Blair moved quickly toward the door. Rafe was kneeling on the floor, balancing a backpack on his knee as he fought with a recalcitrant buckle.

"Going somewhere, Rafe?"

Rafe almost dropped his pack but managed to recover it before it hit the floor. "Sandburg, what the hell are you doing here? And what the hell were you doing in my bedroom?" He sounded more annoyed than surprised, back muscles tense. He didn't look at Blair.

Blair sighed, hoping he hadn't destroyed the friendship he and Rafe had started. "Actually, I came to apologize, man. And I –"

"Accepted," Rafe replied bluntly. "Now go home." He stood abruptly, tossing the pack onto the couch and stalking toward his desk.

Looking from the pack to the basket to the cluttered desk, Blair put pieces he didn't realize he'd had together. "You're going there, aren't you?"

Rafe stopped and spun to face him. Two livid bruises glared on his chest and stomach. "Just where is there?" he asked, crossing his arms over his ribs, barking out a humorless laugh. "I'm just heading to the woods for a few days. I need to get away for a while."

Blair shook his head. "No. You believe they're still alive, too, don't you?" He searched Rafe's eyes, looking for confirmation of his suspicions.

"So what if I do?" Rafe shrugged and tried to walk past him.

Blair backed up quickly, staying in his path. He ended up with his back against the door, Rafe glaring at him. "I'm going with you." Blair leaned against the wood, doorknob digging into his back.

"No, you're not. Now, please, get out of my way. I've got another load in the dryer, and I'd like to get to my shower before the damned hot water runs out."

Rafe's glare was no match for Jim's; Blair stood his ground. "Please, Rafe, I know they're alive, and there's not a damned thing I can do here! Let me go with you."

Rafe exhaled heavily and looked away. "Just what do you think you could do there?"

"What do you think you can do?" Blair retorted, hope warming him slowly. "We can find them and bring them home. If – if – if..." He cleared his throat, unable to continue, to speak his fear aloud. His heart ached as he willed Rafe to hear the unspoken thought, 'If we can't, I can get more closure there than any memorial service here could give me.'

Rafe met his eyes again, and Blair smiled half-heartedly. "Besides, man, after my little... freak out in the bullpen today, I'm sort of persona non grata around there... Just – just let's discuss it, okay?" He held his breath, waiting for an answer.

Rafe moved to one side far enough to let him pass, and sighed resignedly. "Make yourself at home, Sandburg. We'll talk more after I get my laundry and shower, okay?"

"Great," Blair replied, pulling off his coat and heading toward a comfortable looking overstuffed chair by the windows. "I swear you won't regret this, Rafe."

Muttering something Blair couldn't hear, Rafe left the apartment.

Blair settled into the chair after trying to brush some reddish hair off the cushion. Dog? Cat? He hadn't seen any evidence of a pet. He shrugged, closing his eyes and abandoning that question for the contemplation of two more important topics: how to convince Rafe to let him go to Canada with him, and exactly how badly he'd wanted to kiss the bruises he'd inflicted to make them better.

~~~~

Rafe pulled off the highway into the parking lot of a motel, sighing. It looked like it had seen better times; faded and peeling paint, the fingerprinted and scratched windows of the office door reflected the headlights of the rented SUV back at him. He yawned widely and scrubbed at his eyes; they burned from the long drive, too much time spent peering through the rain that had plagued the journey so far.

He looked over at Blair, sleeping soundly in the passenger seat, and couldn't help but smile. The intermittent flickering of the red neon 'Vacancy' sign painted the auburn highlights of Blair's hair with brilliance, offsetting the softness of his sleeping features. A trickle of saliva dribbled from the corner of Blair's mouth as he shifted, slouching more against the door, his head lolling to the side.

Digging in his pocket, still watching Blair, he pulled out a necklace of soft braided leather and bone beads. He held it for a minute, stifling another yawn, tracing the carving of the three chunks of bone with his fingernail. 'How long has it been since I wore this last?' he wondered, 'Fifteen years? More?' He'd never grown accustomed to the deference accorded to his kin when people who knew what they meant read their necklaces; it made his stomach hurt. But he was willing to take advantage of anything that would make the trip easier. Sighing again, he draped it around his neck, making sure the carved side of the beads faced forward.

Blair moved again, a small sound emerging from his parted lips, obviously dreaming. Rafe held his breath, hoping Blair wouldn't wake; he wanted just to have a little more time to look without having to guard his expression. He knew that if Blair were to open his eyes, to wake, Blair would see every scrap of naked emotion he'd been trying to hide.

Since he'd stepped in the chilly, wet patch on his rug left by Blair's entrance to his apartment and felt a painful rush of warmth at the sight of Blair's boots beside his own shoes, he'd been fighting a sense of inevitability.

Their conversation – partially argument – had lasted for hours, over a shared pizza. All of his rationale for not taking Blair with him was ignored or was neatly brushed aside by well-reasoned arguments. Rafe's concern for Blair's health, his capability of handling the difficult terrain, the need for him to remain in Cascade... Even the things he couldn't bring up without giving away his secret past. They all became irrelevant as he let Blair talk him into allowing him to go.

This trip, whatever the results, would be harder than he originally anticipated. He'd finally had to be honest with himself. His feelings toward Blair were more than lust and tenuous friendship could account for.

He was falling in love.

Greatly daring, he reached out to brush his fingertips lightly across the back of Blair's left hand where it rested, twitching, on his thigh. "What are you dreaming about?" he wondered aloud, whispering, not expecting an answer.

Blair's eyes didn't open, but a smile suddenly appeared on his lips. "Jamie," he gasped breathily.

Feeling like he'd been kicked in the gut, Rafe bit his lip and closed his eyes. 'Of course he's dreaming about Jim,' he thought desolately. He tried not to let it hurt, but it did. He drew back his hand slowly, and took a deep breath before opening his eyes again, turning his head, and meeting the curious gaze of the motel manager through the windows separating them.

"I'll be right back," he whispered to his sleeping companion.

Leaving the engine running, he got out and closed the door quietly. He stretched muscles cramped from driving, hissing as they pulled.

The office door rattled as he opened it, and the elderly manager cracked a gap-toothed grin that he returned with a less-ready smile of his own. "Been on the road long?"

"Far too long. I need a double, one night only," Rafe replied, watching the man's friendly expression fade to one of wary respect for a moment as he squinted myopically at Rafe's necklace.

His smile returned quickly, though, almost as if he'd sensed Rafe's discomfort. "Too tired to make it home, eh?" The manager slid a registration form across the scarred counter and turned away to retrieve a key. "Can't do you a double, I'm afraid, but I've got a king room."

"Uh..." Rafe glanced out the window. What would Blair...?

"Not much of a choice, I know, but it's off-season, and we're repainting."

"I guess that will be... okay." He turned back in time to see the man indicate his necklace.

"Well, there's a forty percent discount for you folks, if that makes up for it."

"That much?" Rafe was amazed. He'd been expecting fifteen percent, maybe, if anything.

"Don't get many of you through here lately. Even you halves." The man shrugged, his own doubt at the wisdom of the large discount clear. "Newest owner's a quarter, wants to encourage your business."

"Ah. Well, I'll put in a word," Rafe hedged. It wasn't likely he'd be given the opportunity to refer motels to his kinsmen if he encountered them, he thought with a shiver. The motel's new owner obviously wasn't from the area, shared blood notwithstanding. The group whose business he wanted was, for the most part, far too insular and xenophobic to avail themselves of the discount.

"The room's in the back so you don't have the traffic to worry about." He raised his eyebrow at Rafe, a glint of humor in his eyes. There wasn't any traffic; only two cars were parked in front of rooms, and it had been at least two hours since Rafe had seen another vehicle.

Rafe stifled a laugh as he looked out the window to check on Blair again. "That'll be fine," he assented, and started to fill out the form with false information.

The key, with its battered plastic tag, clattered onto the counter beside his hand. "Number eight. Left round the building, right on the corner. You can't miss it. Just leave the form on the counter, and have a good night."

He glanced up at the manager as the man walked away and opened a door. The muted sound of late night television greeted him. "Thanks..." He didn't get a reply beyond an absent wave, and then he was alone in the office.

He finished the form quickly, picked up the key, and returned, yawning, to the truck. Blair was still sound asleep, not waking when he got back in. Number eight was just as easy to find as the manager had promised. It was secluded and had windows that nearly abutted the forest. He parked and looked over at Blair again, still reluctant to wake him. But they had to make an early start in the morning, and the sooner they were in the room the sooner he could try to sleep himself.

He reached into the back seat for their packs, and shook Blair's shoulder. "Hey, Sandburg, we're here."

"Huh?" Blair blinked at him. "Where's here?" he asked groggily, looking out the windows.

"The Forest Star Motel." He hoisted Blair's pack over the seat, waiting for him to take it. "Uh, Sandburg, this thing is heavy."

"Oh, sorry, man!" Blair relieved him of the pack and, after a brief struggle with his seatbelt, got out of the truck, incidentally giving Rafe a great view of his ass.

As he lifted his own pack, he groaned. This was a very bad idea. Sharing a motel room, a bed, with Blair was going to be tough; sharing a tent with him would be sheer murder. 'He's Jim's,' he reminded himself sternly. 'Hands off.'

Hoisting the pack on his shoulder, he slammed the truck's door with unnecessary force just as Blair asked a question. "Huh?"

"Where exactly on the planet is the Forest Star Motel? Do we have more driving to do tomorrow?"

He joined Blair by the room door, digging the key out of his pocket. "We're only about half an hour away from the trail head, but I figured tomorrow was soon enough to start tenting it." He unlocked the door, and they both looked into the room. "Well... It's better than I expected," he finally said. "But I didn't know they even made pink carpeting."

"It has a bed," Blair said firmly. "One bed. Big, pink bed."

Could he be hearing approval and hope under the appalled shock? Rafe shook his head. He was tired, too tired, and projecting his dreaming onto Blair. "After you, Sandburg," he said, giving Blair a slight shove on his left shoulder, propelling him into the very pink room. "Didn't have any doubles."

"S'okay. How long was I asleep?" Blair yawned, almost tripping over his pack as he tried to set it down and walk at the same time.

Rafe laughed. "Several hours. You drifted off not long after we crossed the border."

Blair slumped on the bed. "God, man, I haven't really slept since this whole thing started. I haven't been able to."

Rafe dropped his pack on the other side. "Know the feeling. Even before that for me... The damned case H and I were on was keeping us on the clock a good eighteen hours a day." He looked over at Blair just as the other man lay back stretching his arms over his head and revealing a teasing glimpse of bare stomach. "So..." He looked down at his hands, surprised that they weren't shaking. "You hungry or you want to just go back to sleep?"

The answer came slowly, each word separated by a yawn. "Sleep is good..."

Rafe couldn't fight his own yawns anymore with such provocation and sat down abruptly on the bed. "Dammit, Sandburg, quit yawning! It's contagious!"

Blair rolled over onto his stomach and grinned at him. "Good, man. Maybe you'll get some sleep, too."

Rafe set his pack on the floor, and reached over to flick on the pink, ceramic lamp and set the cheap, brown plastic clock radio to wake them in eight hours. "Make yourself useful and turn off the overhead."

Standing with a groan, massaging the back of his neck, Blair walked over to the door. "Remind me... Why didn't I recline the seat?" He flicked off the lights. "My neck is killing me."

Rafe stopped, his sweater halfway over his head. Did he dare? Oh, God, did he dare? He shrugged the sweater off the rest of the way. "Need a neck rub?" It was hard to breathe; his face felt hot, and he wondered if he was flushed. He couldn't look at Blair while he waited for a reply, just kept stripping down to his boxers and t-shirt, listening to the soft sounds of Blair undressing.

"Thanks for the offer," Blair said sleepily, "but it should be okay..." 

~~~~

The room was dark when Blair woke, not sure what had disturbed him. He was warm, comfortable, and for the first time in days, he felt rested. He rolled onto his back, listening. It was quiet; the only sounds were his breathing and Rafe's faint snoring.  
Looking toward the large window with its still open pink curtains, he realized that the rain had finally stopped, and that thick, fleecy snow was falling instead. He grimaced; Rafe had warned him just how temperamental the weather would be on their journey.

Pushing the ridiculous pink sheets and blanket aside, he sat up slowly, yawning. The air was chilly, and he rubbed his arms as gooseflesh blossomed on them. He made his way, stumbling over Rafe's boots, to the bathroom. He stood in the doorway, fumbling for the light switch, a tiny part of him afraid to see just how pink that room could be. He already felt, from his exhausted first impression of the room, that he was either surrounded by cotton candy or drowning in Pepto Bismol.  
He shielded his eyes as his fingers found the switch, blinking at the glare of the humming, fluorescent light over the sink. No pink. The utilitarian, white tile was cold under his feet as he stood waiting for his eyes to adjust to the brightness. He closed the door quietly, hoping he wouldn't wake Rafe.

He broke the ludicrous paper strip that guaranteed in both French and English that the toilet was sanitized for his protection and crumpled it into a rough ball. As he reached across the sink to drop it in the trash, he met his own eyes in the mirror. He brushed his hair out of his face, really looking at himself for the first time in days. The dark, bruised- looking smudges under his eyes were starting to fade a little, he thought, and his nose had almost lost the raw redness his overuse of cheap tissues had caused.

"What are you preening for, idiot?" he growled quietly to himself. "He's already seen you at your worst."

He used the toilet, then washed his hands, pointedly avoiding meeting his own gaze in the mirror again. Opening the door softly, he was about to flick off the light when he caught glimpse of Rafe. Blair hesitated with his hand still on the switch, and leaned against the doorjamb, suddenly breathless.

Rafe was lying on his back with one arm curled up onto his pillow. His cheek rested on his biceps, and his hair fell across his forehead. He muttered something too quietly for Blair to hear, his eyelids fluttering as he dreamt. Blair crept closer, tantalized by the tuft of hair revealed by the pushed up sleeve of Rafe's light gray t-shirt, by his parted lips, the line of his throat.

He stopped when his feet tangled in Rafe's jeans, freezing as change and keys clinked in a pocket, several coins hitting his foot as they fell to the floor. Rafe didn't awaken, and Blair squatted to replace the scattered coinage. Rafe's muttering got louder; he listened. Rafe was either speaking nonsense words or a language Blair didn't understand, had never heard before. He sounded upset, and Blair wondered if he should wake him.

Before he could decide, Rafe rolled over abruptly so his back was to Blair, and Blair suddenly had other worries. Not two feet in front of him, and no longer covered by the blanket, was Rafe's ass, shielded only by a thin layer of white cotton. Blair closed his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath.

Feeling only a little guilty for the liberty he was taking, he opened his eyes again.

Saving the best for last, he let his eyes take in the length of Rafe's spine from the nape of his neck downward, trying to memorize the sight for later fantasizing. Rafe's shirt had gotten twisted while he slept, and Blair bit his lower lip, gazing at the exposed patch of skin between shirt and boxers. He wished he was seeing its warm tone in firelight rather than the unforgiving glow of fluorescent, but had to fight the urge to taste it. Rafe shifted his right leg, drawing his knee up, and Blair gasped as Rafe's boxers pulled more tightly over his well-defined cheeks and he was given a glimpse of dark hair and the dusky rose skin of Rafe's scrotum.

"Oh, man, Jamie," he breathed, the sound barely reaching his own ears. His cock, already half-erect, twitched against his thigh.  
Rafe moved again, and the enticing view vanished, breaking the spell. Blair got to his feet, shaky and flushed, and backed into the bathroom. He closed the door, leaning against it with his eyes closed.

'How am I going to make it through days in a tent with him?' he thought, heat coursing through his spine, pooling in his groin. 'Even more to the point, how am I going to go out there and get back into that bed with him? I can't hide in the bathroom all night... Cold shower!' His eyes snapped open. 'No showerhead. Fucking great.'

He refused to even contemplate a cold bath. A hot bath, on the other hand, might just reverse the damage he'd done to his neck and shoulders sleeping in the truck. He smiled sadly, wishing he could have trusted himself to let Rafe rub his neck for him, that the offer was more than the innocent, friendly favor it sounded like.

He sat on the edge of the tub and turned on the water. While it ran, filling the room with steam, he tugged his clothes off slowly. The steam licked around his chilled skin making him shiver. He leaned against the sink, watching the wisps as they rose to the ceiling, trying to get what he'd just seen out of his mind. As badly as he wanted to masturbate, he wouldn't. Not with the object of his fantasies less than ten feet away and probably able to hear him through the flimsy door.

By the time the water was to a decent level, he'd just managed it. He climbed into the tub, groaning as the hot water hit his cold skin, leaning back and letting the heat penetrate through him. Erection tamed, he turned his thoughts to his missing friends.

The sense of urgency he'd been feeling, the need to do something, anything, to get Jim, Simon, and Daryl home, was eased now that he had started to search. In less than four hours, he and Rafe would be hiking toward the crash site, and relaxation, not to mention soaking in a hot tub, would be impossible.

According to Rafe, the country they'd be crossing was dangerous and difficult. No real climbing involved, but some of the trails Rafe planned to use were going to be very challenging, particularly with snow. The park's official trail system didn't go anywhere near the area they had to get to, stopping miles away, and they were not taking the route used by the search and rescue teams.

He sighed, sinking lower in the tub, letting the heat soak into his sore shoulders and neck. The sensation of the water on his scalp and fanning out his hair, the heat trickling upward, made him close his eyes. He slid a little lower, submerging his ears to listen to the echo of his gentle splashing in the cracked porcelain.

"Jim," he whispered aloud, "is it so terribly wrong to... to... be enjoying this trip as much as I am? I mean, I know you're out there, and you could be hurt, man, and... and you're my best friend... but, damn it, I am enjoying this. Well, sorta. This close-quarters thing might just kill me."

He glanced at the locked door that separated him from the sleeping Rafe. "Jim, if you only knew how long I've wanted Jamie..." He shook his head, sighing again, letting himself enjoy the hot water touching his face. "Hell, you probably do, but I doubt you know that... I'm in love with him..."

~~~~

Blair had more than enough time in the next couple of days to reflect on his decision not to use his one available chance to jerk off before hitting the trail, and he spent that time regretting it.

He glanced up from the snow, disturbed only by Rafe's footprints, and looked at the man who was torturing him without knowing it.

His dreams were intense, erotic, and he woke in the mornings frustrated.

The nights had been quiet; both of them absorbed with their own thoughts, too worn out by the hike to converse much. They couldn't risk a fire, Rafe insisted, so they were in the tent early each evening, each wrapped in their sleeping bags.

This was the James Rafe the apartment fitted; the one with the eclectic tastes in music and books. The one who let his five o'clock shadow turn into the beginnings of a rough beard on his slightly windburnt cheeks, who looked so natural surrounded by the wilderness. As at home in denim, wool, and flannel as he was in the expensive suits he wore mostly for court dates.

And it was getting harder to keep from telling Rafe how he felt. Harder to keep from taking advantage of the closeness, the isolation.

It was late afternoon. The temperature was dropping steadily as they moved along a thin, rock-strewn path along the edge of a ravine. 'Path, ha!' he snorted to himself. 'This is a damned deer track. Goat track.'

Rafe was picking his steps very carefully, testing the ground before putting his weight on it. He'd warned Blair to only walk where he already had.

"You're sure you know where we're going?" Blair asked for the fifth time, stepping carefully around a large rock, keeping his footsteps in Rafe's and feeling like he was in an adventure movie.

Rafe stopped. "Yes, I am sure. Now will you let me concentrate?"

"It's just," Blair persisted, "that you haven't looked at a map or anything since we left the trail. You're just going on instinct? Is that what you're saying?"

"Instinct has something to do with it," Rafe called back as he kept moving, "but it's mostly memory." Blair thought he heard laughter in Rafe's voice. "Although, admittedly, some things have changed."

Glaring angrily after Rafe's retreating back, Blair hurried to try to catch up with him, getting maybe a little closer to the edge than he wanted to. "Twenty miles or so, so far, based on your memory? Just how often have you been here, man?"

"I grew up here, Sandburg!" Still yards away, Rafe turned back to face him, grinning infuriatingly. "Do you need a map for your own backyard?"

"Backyard, my ass!" Blair gestured widely at the untouched forest. "Rafe, people don't live here! It's the middle of nowhere!" He pointed back the way they came. "Civilization is that way, man, remember? What, were you raised by wolves or something?"

Rafe burst out laughing. It was a minute before he replied, "Just trust me. We'll be there the day after tomorrow. I promise."

Blair flipped him off, and still chuckling loudly, Rafe turned away. "I do trust you. I don't know why, but I do trust you," Blair muttered, looking down to check his footing.

A heartbeat later, Rafe's laugh transformed into a yell of surprise. "Blair! Stay back!" "Rafe!" Blair looked up at the shout, his heart stuttering in horror. "No!"

Blair took one step forward, arms outstretched, reacting without thought, knowing it was too late, impossible. Pain throbbed through his left ankle as he went off balance on an icy rock. He watched Rafe disappear over the edge even as the ground crumbled under him and he slipped over himself.

Blair tried desperately to grab something, anything, but couldn't. Oh, shit! The ground slithered beneath him as he half-slid and half-fell, his pack wrenching his shoulder as it tore free of him. The world went black in an instant as his forehead hit something hard.

~~~~

Rafe managed to open one eye, and closed it again as the light, dimming as night fell, struck and shimmered on something right in front of it. He opened the eye again, trying to focus.

The red jewel was the shattered carapace of a ladybug; it wasn't blood.

The darker patches staining the soil, the snow, the detritus of the woods disturbed by his fall, those were blood. He realized that as he leaned up on one elbow, light-headed and dazed, and watched another droplet fall to encrimson an already maroon leaf.

Wincing, he sat up further, raising one dirty hand to his torn scalp. "Why always a head wound, huh?" he addressed no one in particular. His breath hissed between his teeth as he gingerly probed the injury. "Fuck. As if they won't be able to smell this much blood..."

Immediately on the heels of that thought, he scrubbed at the dried blood sealing his lashes together with the heel of his other hand, finally opening his other eye. "Blair? Blair? Where are you?" He got no answer. "Shit..."

It didn't take long to find Blair. He was about twenty yards from where Rafe had come to rest. Rafe's sigh of relief as he half-slid half-ran down the hill to Blair's crumpled and still form changed to a near sob as he got closer.

He'd escaped so luckily from the fall. Blair had not.

There wasn't much blood pooled in the snow around the stump that had stopped Blair's roll down the hill, but that was only because the snapped branch that impaled his chest was undoubtedly preventing a massive hemorrhage with its own pressure. Blair was unconscious, thankfully. If he'd tried to free himself from the branch, he'd have probably died before Rafe regained consciousness.

He sat back on his haunches, stroked Blair's muddy hair off his forehead, and considered his very, very limited options.  
There was only one thing that might work, might have a chance of getting Blair out of this trip alive. That realization only took seconds. Leaving him there was completely out of the question, and getting any sort of medical attention where they were was absolutely impossible. More to the point, he had to keep them from being discovered, hunted down by his... well, by the Talshena. What hope did one barely taught half- breed have of being able to pull this off?

He shook his head, fingers still on Blair's forehead, tangled in the dirty hair. "God, Blair, why did I have to listen to you? Why did I let you talk me into bringing you?" Regretfully, he pulled back his hand, and started checking Blair for other, less obvious injuries. He kept his movements slow and non-jarring, hoping he could complete his examination without rousing Blair.

Sighing deeply when he was done, he glanced around. Aside from the chest injury, Blair was relatively unharmed. The cuts, bruises, and scrapes would be taken care of by the spillover; so would the sprained ankle. Rafe smiled faintly for the first time since the ravine's edge gave way under his feet; his fingers tingled with the memory of Blair's skin. The smile vanished almost immediately; Blair's time was very quickly running out.

So was his own if he didn't start soon. If he waited, he'd be too tired to even try. He shook himself out of his reverie and stood.  
There was a copse of bushes he should be able to make it to if things worked the way he hoped they would. Casting frequent backward glances to check on Blair's unmoving body, he made his way there. The twigs snagged his parka and skin as he forced his way inside. He shrugged as he reached a tiny, snow filled clearing in the middle; it would be worse on the way out, but half of him wanted the tiny pain to offset the guilt.

As he started removing all of his clothing, he racked his memory for everything he could recall about the procedure he was about to attempt. Sadly, it wasn't much, and his hands shook as he unlaced his boots, setting them to one side. He shivered violently as he pulled off his socks and stood barefoot in the snow to remove his pants. The snow felt almost fire-hot; it had been years since he'd last done that.

Fully nude, bleeding from a series of scratches, he crawled back to Blair's side. Blair didn't stir as he touched his forehead again, leaving a thin trail of blood there. Slowly, ever so slowly, doing something he wouldn't have dared if Blair were conscious, he leaned down and pressed his lips against Blair's temple. "I'm so sorry, Blair," he whispered. "I don't know if this is going to work, because I don't know what I'm doing, but I'll do my best..." Blair's forehead was so cold; he was obviously in shock, and if Rafe hadn't been able to feel the faint pulse in his temple, he would have assumed Blair was dead.

He looked around, hoping the Talshena wouldn't find him while he was essentially as helpless as Blair was now, and kissed Blair's forehead one more time. As he sat back up, making the mental adjustments necessary for the change, he took bleak comfort in the fact that if he failed in the healing, he'd likely die right along with Blair as he drained his energy into him. Then the deep amber light surrounded him, and he fought to keep his thoughts steady as the change took him.

He sneezed, sitting back abruptly. The blood scent pouring off of both Blair and himself was much more noticeable in this form. Taking another brief moment to get used to four legs before he started focusing all his attention on healing, he sneezed again. It wasn't just the smell of blood, he realized, it was the sheer scent of Blair, overpowering at this level, rich and complex. He was unable to stop himself from noticing that Blair's human scent was being slowly and horribly replaced by that of lifeless meat. "Enough," he told himself. "If this works you can sit around and sniff him as long as you want."

He padded lightly around Blair's legs, working his body into the minimal space between the ragged tree stump and the terrifying stillness of Blair's body, wincing as he jostled his human companion. He draped himself over the piercing bough, put all four paws against the stump, took a deep breath, focussed every scrap of his will on healing Blair, and, as the light dazzled his eyes and Blair's heart slowed, very, very carefully started to push.

He'd never get the feelings or the sounds out of his nightmares. His nails scrabbled against the bark that tore deep cuts into his pads as he tried to move the weight of a human with a fox's body. The branch slithered with agonizing slowness free of Blair's ribcage, making a thick, wet noise as it did. Millimeter by millimeter he forced himself to continue, every muscle aching from the strain, sending healing into the breach left by the wood's removal. Blood soaked him, the branch and his fur slicker and stickier at the same time; he tried not to, but he tasted Blair's blood as he panted in near exhaustion.

Finally Blair was freed from the stump, rolling on his back, and Rafe collapsed on his intact chest, shooting a furious, futile glance at the innocent wood. Just for a minute. He had to rest just for a minute. He pressed his head against Blair's chest, listening to the strengthening heartbeat, and grinned, tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth. Had to keep moving or he'd fall asleep, and Blair would wake where he was. That he wouldn't allow, couldn't allow.

His vision was so much better in this form, disconcerting as the lack of color was. Pity he couldn't move Blair as a fox. Sighing, he leapt lightly off Blair's chest, and changed. Wow. Dizzy. He shivered. It was full dark now, and the moon hadn't risen. He lifted Blair, not as easily as he could have if they were both fully conscious, and headed in the direction of the cave he knew was nearby. He just wanted Blair far enough from his actual fall site that he wouldn't see the... the instrument of his near destruction.

He was staggering under Blair's weight after a few yards, nearly dropping him as he fell to his knees in exhaustion. "Far enough," he muttered. The strain had opened his scalp wound again, he realized. Pity that the healing didn't go both ways. He arranged Blair there, his limbs sprawling as if that's where he'd rolled to a stop, and brushed the hair off his forehead again.  
It was too cold to be naked and human; he needed fur. One last change, he thought, and he'd be able to come 'find' him there. The amber light swallowed him, and he discovered, too late, that this change was using almost the very last of his strength. There was no way he'd make it back to his clothes. His eyes were already closing as he curled in front of Blair's chest.

~~~~

Blair half-woke slowly. He was freezing, he realized, except for his chest. He snuggled closer to the warmth, inhaling deeply. "Jamie," he breathed, recognizing the soft hint of cologne tingeing the air. Soft hair brushed against his lips, and he smiled in his sleep, licking them, not registering anything amiss until he tasted blood and what felt like a dog's ear flickered against his nose as he breathed.

He opened his eyes, confused, and looked almost cross-eyed at the sharp muzzle of a fox. It appeared to be glowing faintly with a dark, rusty light. He blinked. 'What the hell?' Very slowly and carefully he moved the arm he had wrapped around the animal that had, for some reason, curled up to sleep beside him. He sat up, disturbing the layer of fresh snow that blanketed him. The fox whimpered and twitched in its sleep, and Blair tentatively put his hand on its back, stroking lightly. The fur beneath his fingers was stiff and spiky not soft as he expected. The fox calmed immediately, and Blair smiled softly.

Shivering, he pulled his parka closed with his free hand, scrabbling for the zipper with near frozen fingers, cursing silently when he discovered the zipper's broken state. His shirt and two layers of sweaters felt crispy to the touch, torn to reveal the bare, furred skin of his chest. Stunned, he slipped his fingers into the hole, biting his lip at their chill touch, and felt his chest. He couldn't feel anything that would account for the state of his clothes; nothing hurt.

"Okay, this is really fucking weird."

The fox woke at the sound of his voice, and scooted out from under his hand, yelping quietly as its head brushed his palm. It didn't run, though, and Blair met its cat-like eyes in surprise as it sat up in front of him about a foot away.

There was intelligence in those eyes, and, Blair thought, pain. He licked his lips again, tasting more blood, and raised his hand to his mouth. His fingers were bloody when he peered at them, and he looked more closely at the fox. It cocked its head at him, looking back.

"You're hurt," he said, stupidly. "Um... shouldn't I be?"

The fox, with a sigh that sounded amused, lay down in the snow again, still watching him intently and waiting for something Blair couldn't identify.

Blair yawned. "I'm so tired," he told the curious animal, "I can't think straight." He shivered more violently, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. He rested his forehead on his knees for a moment, thinking, trying to wake up, trying to remember. So cold. All he wanted to do was lie down and go back to sleep. He looked up at an inquiring whine and the brush of a cold, wet nose on his wrist.

"What? You don't want me to go to sleep again?"

He swallowed hard when the fox shook its head in a definite negative. "Uh... you understand me?"

A nod.

Okay, Blair, you took a wrong turn into a kid's book here, he thought giddily. Or I'm hypothermic and hallucinating... He looked into the animal's amber-green eyes and continued aloud, "Or I'm still dreaming, because there's no way I am having a conversation with a dog..." The dog in question snarled, showing sharp, pointed teeth, and made like it was going to lift its leg to urinate on him. Blair hastened to complete the sentence, feeling like an idiot, "that I haven't been properly introduced to. I'm Blair Sandburg. From Cascade, Washington. Nice to meet you. Guess you're... um..." Blair shrugged. "Fox."

Blair held out his hand; the fox sniffed at it, wrinkling its muzzle.

"Oh, yeah, right... guess you don't know 'shake', huh?"

He yanked back his hand quickly as the fox bared its teeth again.

"No offense meant, okay? I'm freezing, filthy, and I really don't want to walk around reeking of fox piss."

Blair looked around, still trying to focus on what he was doing there. His shivering was getting worse, and he vaguely realized that he probably was getting hypothermic. His memory was shot, and it was frustrating him. He groaned, shifting to sit cross-legged instead. The fox was watching him again, pacing in front of him and looking worried, and he frowned at it. "I know there's something really, really important that I'm forgetting." Jim would kill him...

Jim... Oh, shit. The memory rushed back. Simon... Daryl...

"Jamie... shit... where's Jamie?" He covered his face with his hands. "Oh, my God, I can't believe I forgot about him..." he muttered, sudden tears frigid on his cheeks.

'We fell,' he remembered, 'we fell... and oh, my God, he's... he could be... No.' He put his hands in the snow, bracing himself to stand.

He felt a tugging on his sleeve and glanced at the fox. The fox ran a few feet, looked at him, and barked.

"What?"

The fox came back, tugged his sleeve again, and looked at him expectantly. "You want me to... follow you? Is that it?" He got an affirmative reply. Shivering almost uncontrollably, he looked around at the thick woods. "I can't. I have to find –"

A sharp bark cut him off. "No, I can't. Jamie is –"

Putting its paw on his knee, the fox whined urgently and butted its head against his chest. Its eyes met his again, and Blair tried to understand what it was trying to tell him. Somehow it had the air of someone trying to explain something to a child.  
"You know who I'm talking about? Where he is? Is that where we're going?" He tried to cross his fingers, but found they were too cold to cooperate. 'Please say yes...'

The fox cocked it head, considering him. It nodded eventually.

"Where did you come from, by the way? I mean, not like you're gonna be able to tell me or anything, but I know there were no foxes mentioned on the park website. Wolves and coyotes, yes, but no foxes. Sure you're a fox?"

The low growl he got in reply couldn't be a clearer answer.

"Again, no offense meant, man." Blair yawned again. "Uh, Fox, sorry. Okay, okay, I'm following..."

With one backward glance and a yip, the fox ran lightly over the snow, tail straight out behind it. Blair got to his feet unsteadily, brushing the snow off of himself as best he could, and followed it. The single line of tracks was nearly invisible in the wan light of the newly risen moon, and Blair squinted to try to see them better, to see his vulpine companion.

He'd only gone a few steps before tripping over a bulky lump that turned out to be his pack. "Wait!" he called after the fox. It returned to sit a few feet away, waiting patiently as he tried to mend the broken strap. He gave up after a few minutes, choosing to try carrying it over one shoulder.

Struggling with his awkward burden, thrown off balance by it, and stricken by the cold and desperate hope, he staggered after the fox. He couldn't keep up, but he wouldn't stop. The fox seemed to realize his difficulty, doubling back several times and waiting.

Rafe couldn't be that far away. He just couldn't be.

He was extremely disappointed when the cave he was led to proved to be empty.

He dropped his pack on the stone floor, slumping beside it, and looked for the creature that had brought him there. "You..."

The fox was gone.

~~~~

Rafe ran through the snow as fast as he could, his lungs burning, heading for the thicket where his clothes were. He had to get back to Blair fast, in human form, and get him warm. There was no way he was going to let Blair die of hypothermia after healing him. He cursed his own exhaustion; if he hadn't slept so long, he could have gotten Blair to shelter in time to prevent the condition. The cave, while still cold, was several degrees warmer than it was outside, and should keep Blair warm enough to wake should he fall asleep again. Rafe hoped.

It didn't take long to get to the clearing. The branches didn't snag his fur as he snaked his way through them, growling as he noticed exactly how much snow now filled his boots. He settled in the middle of the tiny clearing, his heart aching. The change left him shivering, huddled in the snow, covered with Blair's blood.

He looked down at his naked body, and grabbed handfuls of snow. He hissed at the almost painful burn of it, scrubbing quickly and roughly to remove as much blood as he could. He pulled on his clothes hurriedly, trying not to think about how cold he was. Blair was colder.

Retracing his path to the cave without even trying to find his pack, he tried to think about how to make the cave warmer without a fire. Blair's pack should have everything he needed to keep Blair alive.

He stopped halfway there, winded, and leaned against a tree. He hoped that Blair would stay in the cave and not try to go hunting for Jim. The desolate expression on Blair's face when he saw the empty cave haunted him. He hadn't lied, he decided. He was going to lead Blair to his Jamie, but he couldn't do it as a fox.

"Blair," he whispered, "I... I... wish you were looking for me instead of him. That... those tears were for forgetting about me..."  
Okay, he told himself as he started walking again, enough self-pity. You can't die of unrequited love. If you want him to be happy, and you do, you'll do anything to make him that way, won't you? You'll be his friend, and you'll love him, and store away the memory of what it felt like to save his life. He looked at their tracks, stifling a sigh of regret.

Because he couldn't tell Blair that he was the fox. It might become unavoidable if they did encounter the Talshena, but until then he had to keep his own secret. As far as he was concerned, if Blair brought up the fox, he'd act surprised and listen to whatever he had to say, but that was all.

Besides, there was something undignified about playing Lassie.

Time to put on another show. "Blair!" he called as the darkened cave entrance came into view. "Are you there?" He didn't have to disguise the worry in his voice; Blair hadn't even lit the lantern. He ran the last several yards, obliterating their footsteps in a spray of snow. "Blair?"

Blair was still sitting where he'd left him, his arms wrapped around his knees and his forehead resting on them. For a heartbreaking, breathless moment Rafe thought he was too late. Then Blair raised his head, and Rafe breathed again.

"Rafe! God, man, I was so worried!" Blair scrambled to his feet, leaning against the wall for support before throwing his arms around Rafe and squeezing tightly. "How did you find me? I –" He looked up at Rafe for a second, then his face was pressed against Rafe's shoulder again.

Blair sounded sincere. Rafe fought his doubts, accepting Blair's hug. Friends, he reminded himself. He's just happy to see you because otherwise he'd be alone. He bit his lip, then lied. "I followed your tracks. You left a trail that anyone could follow, Sandburg."

"Are you... are you okay? Hurt?" Rafe could hear Blair's teeth chattering as he spoke.

"Not really," Rafe answered. "I, well, I hit my head, but I'm fine. No concussion, just a cut." He pulled off his gloves, raising his hand to the still tender wound. "It stopped bleeding a while ago." His hand brushed against the chilled skin of Blair's face as he lowered it, and he swallowed hard. "You, on the other hand, have got to get warm and soon."

Blair released him with what seemed like reluctance, and Rafe moved past him to Blair's pack. He dropped his gloves beside it, unfastening the buckles quickly. He pulled out the lantern, turning it on, and looked up at Blair. Blair blinked back at him in the sudden light, looking lost and forlorn for a second before he started speaking again.

"The most... amazing thing happened, Rafe. You want to know how I found this cave?"

Rafe set the lantern on the floor, turning his attention back to getting everything out of Blair's pack. He tossed Blair a sweater, a pair of wool pants, and a thermal shirt. "Tell me about it," he suggested, "and change into those while you do."

While he listened to Blair's voice, blocking out most of the actual words and responding with appropriate noises mainly to the tone, he layered Blair's remaining clothes on the floor of the cave. He tugged off his parka, folding it into a makeshift pillow, placing it appropriately, and suddenly Blair was silent. Rafe glanced over his shoulder, alarmed.

Blair was sitting again, the clothes held against his chest, looking depressed and surprised. His eyes met Rafe's. "We're going to...?"

"Blair... Listen to me. Get dry clothes on and lie down! You spent the last couple of weeks sick. You've got to keep warm." He tugged on Blair's arm. "We've got to share body heat."

"What about...?" Blair looked around sleepily. "Um, where's your pack?"

"I don't know." Rafe sighed, feeling the sting of jealousy, knowing who Blair would rather be sharing his heat with. "Even if I did know, that wouldn't help us now, Sandburg. Now, get changed and get into that bed! Jim will kill me if you die out here!" He snatched a folded tarp from the pile of remaining objects, and stalked toward the entrance. As he arranged it as a windbreak, he tried not to listen to the sounds of Blair changing behind him, tried not to watch Blair's shadow on the wall.

He made one last adjustment to the tarp. Taking a deep breath, he turned to the makeshift bed, steeling himself to sleep so closely to Blair. He wondered if he had the courage to finally ask Blair the one question he needed answered so badly. Regardless of the pain the answer might cause him.

~~~~

"We're totally fucked, aren't we?" Blair couldn't hide the bitter touch of despair he was feeling. "One sleeping bag, most of the food's gone, most of your clothes... We're not going to make it home. We're not even going to make it to where, where it happened." He shifted and tried to flatten the sweater under his ribs again. He gave up, realizing that the lump was a ridge in the rock. He shivered and moved forward slightly as Rafe lifted the sleeping bag and joined him. He held his breath as Rafe got settled behind him.

"Yes, we will, Sandburg." Rafe's voice, so close to his ear that he felt the heat of Rafe's breath, held a conviction that Blair wished he shared. "We'll get to the crash site, we'll get them out, and we'll all get home. It's not going to be easy, not at all, but we can do this. We'll look for my pack in the morning."

Blair shivered again as Rafe lay back. "I don't think I can sleep. I keep thinking about that fox, man. It was so... so weird and cool, you know?" He twitched as the parka pillowing their heads moved when Rafe did. "And I can't stop thinking about Jim, either," he whispered, continuing his internal chant of 'they're alive, they're alive'.

Rafe's hand touched his arm. "Blair?"

"Yeah?" He waited for Rafe to continue, pulled his cold feet a little higher under the covers, almost sighing as he started to warm up a little. Rafe shifted again, his hand moving to rest on Blair's right shoulder blade, but he remained silent.  
"Yeah?" Blair asked again as the silence grew uncomfortable.

"Never mind." Rafe sighed gustily. "Try to sleep." Nylon rustled on wool; Rafe's hand left his shoulder.

Blair opened his eyes. From the shadow on the wall of the small cave, Rafe was reaching to shut off the lantern. "No, what is it?" He started to roll over, but froze at Rafe's next question.

"You're in love with him aren't you?"

It was hard to see for a moment, hard to think. He couldn't possibly be hearing the longing, the envy in that quiet, blurted question. "In love... with Jim?" he murmured. He rolled over the rest of the way, needing to see Rafe's expression, needing to know if the emotions he'd heard were real or chimerical.

What he could see of Rafe's face was in shadow, the lantern casting a feeble halo around his profile. His eyes were closed, and Blair watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "Yes, in love with Jim," Rafe whispered.

"I love Jim," Blair sighed, "but I'm not in love with him." He held his breath as Rafe shifted slightly, eyes still closed, forehead furrowed. He moved slowly, hoping he wasn't making a mistake, and raised his hand, snaking it out from under the sleeping bag to brush his fingertips against Rafe's chin. "I never have been. There's this other guy..."

Rafe's eyes shot open, either at his touch or his words – he wasn't sure. Blair rested his arm on Rafe's chest, exploring a small scar on Rafe's chin. "Yeah?" Rafe breathed. Blair's fingers slid along Rafe's jaw as Rafe turned his face to Blair's.

Their eyes met, and Blair smiled. "Yeah," he replied as Rafe's hand grasped his own, caressing his palm. One small corner of his mind was amused that it took being in the middle of nowhere, in a tiny cave, for him to finally be honest about a desire he'd had since he'd met Rafe, but the balance was consumed utterly by the knowledge that the desire was clearly shared. Rafe's smile was blinding, but faded quickly as Blair moved his head to kiss him.

Then their lips were touching, and all coherent thought fled. If someone asked him later whose lips parted first, whose tongue entered whose mouth first, he couldn't have answered them. Damn, but Rafe could kiss, he thought in their first brief pause for air, then realized he wasn't cold anymore. He laughed, giddy with a happiness unlike any he'd felt for ages, and Rafe raised his eyebrow, hand stopping its urgent attack on the fly of Blair's pants. "Happy," he explained and worked his hand under the waistband of Rafe's shorts, "happy..."

~~~~

It wasn't working. He couldn't finish the change. Nothing he'd been taught mentioned this kind of pain.

He suspected what was happening, guessed it had something to do with healing Blair like he had. Why hadn't his mother taught him? Why hadn't anyone? Changing had never hurt like this before, never taken so long, never happened spontaneously.  
He shouldn't have tried the healing. Never mind that even thinking of leaving Sandburg to die was beyond morally repellant; never mind that there was no way that either Jim or Simon wouldn't find the sacrifice of Blair's life too much of a cost to save theirs.

Never mind that he'd succeeded.

They would have been found, and he could have pleaded, traded, something... convinced his cousins to save Blair's life.

He tore off another layer of clothes, feeling far too constricted and hot despite the cold and wetness of the woods, the rime of frost on the rocks he sat on. For a moment he breathed easier, the respite from the pain bringing tears to his eyes.

A rustling behind him let him know that Blair was both awake and crawling to the entrance of the small cave, the tarp over the entrance crackled. He scrubbed at his eyes, at least trying to hide the tears.

No. No, this torment was worth it. Blair was alive.

He had to tell him... had to.

"Jamie, man, what are you doing out here? And why are you only wearing boxers?"

He took a deep breath, letting it out as Blair, wrapped in the one sleeping bag, settled beside him. "I'm – I'm not – entirely..." The pain struck again, starbursting behind his eyes. "Oh, God!"

"What the hell?"

They were breathed, barely spoken words, hardly heard. Blair's hand rested on his back, rubbed soft circles between his shoulder blades soothing the pins and needles feeling he had there.

The whisper gave way to stronger words in an almost teasing tone. "You're not entirely what? Sane? It's freezing out here. Come back inside."

Rafe coiled tightly around the agony in his chest, in his head. "Not entirely human," he choked.

Blair's hand left his back and pressed against his forehead. "You're feverish, man. Come on, get back in here. After all the shit you gave me about staying warm..."

"You just don't get it, do you?" His voice sounded more snappish than pained, and he winced at the tone.

Blair's voice dripped with what could only be interpreted as tolerance for his condition. "What don't I get?" he sighed, shifting closer to Rafe, pulling the sleeping bag over Rafe's shoulders. "You're not... regretting...? Are you?"

"No, never that," he gasped. "God, no!" Rafe lifted his head, opening his eyes carefully. He shouldn't have been able to see Blair as well as he did in the faint moonlight, he thought. "But I don't have a fever, Blair."

Blair rolled his eyes, looking ready to start the argument again.

To forestall it, Rafe unwrapped one arm from around his aching ribs and reached for Blair's hand, grasping it tightly and not letting Blair pull it away. "I shouldn't have let you come with me."

"Jamie, I feel just fine. Cold. Really cold, but otherwise fine. And we already had that argument; I won. I'm here, and I'm not leaving until we find Jim, Simon, and Daryl." Blair's grip tightened in his, and Blair tried again to coax him back into the cave. "You've got a fever; you're the one in bad shape, and I think the fall rattled your brain a bit, too, no offense."

It was said with a smile, and even if it were true Rafe couldn't have taken offense. He sighed. "Sandburg... Blair, I'm not sick, but I'm stuck in this shape."

~~~~

Blair forced a laugh, truly worried. "Very funny, man. Now please come back inside?" He raised Rafe's hand to his lips and sucked on Rafe's index finger. The combined taste of their semen on Rafe's hand was an earthy blast on his tongue. "You can get stuck on my shape or me on yours," he suggested, only feeling a little guilty for trying to manipulate Rafe with sex.

"I can't, Blair," Rafe gasped, his eyes closing as he doubled over. "Too... too... small..."

"Yours or mine, man? Because I sure haven't had any complaints, and I don't have any complaints about you."

"Not funny." Rafe pulled his hand away from Blair, wrapping his arm around his ribs again. He sat up, the pain seemingly diminished for the moment. "Cave's too small. There's not enough room in there. Whatever's happening, I think I have to be outside. I am changing; I just don't know how, and my back, my ribs, everything is killing me."

Okay. So levity wasn't going to solve the problem. Blair dropped his playful mood instantly. "It's okay... it's okay. We'll stay out here, then."

"Thank you," Rafe murmured. "This hurts so fucking much..."

He looked closely at Rafe. It was evident something truly wrong was happening. For Rafe, at least, it was very serious and very, very painful. Okay, he mused, you believe in Sentinels. What can Jamie tell you that's any more unbelievable that that?

"If you're not entirely human," he inquired quietly, "what are you? And is there anything I can do to help you?"

It took a few minutes for him to get a reply. He waited helplessly as Rafe fought another attack of the pain that gripped him. He had to almost press his ear to Rafe's lips to hear the answer, "I'm half Talshena. We've been native to this planet for a very, very long time." Rafe's forehead pressed against Blair's temple, searingly warm. "And you can keep rubbing my back like that... It seems to help."

This planet? Blair blinked.

"An alien, huh?"

That was unbelievable, all right. God, what was he going to do?

He racked his brain, searching anxiously for any facts he could remember about head injuries and delusions. He cursed the memory he had for trivial knowledge. What use was the precise name of the tool used in some ancient, tribal trepanning ritual when, firstly, he didn't have one, and secondly, there wasn't a chance in hell he'd ever use one on someone he loved?

"If you define alien as being part of a species that didn't originate on this planet, yes. However, since every single Talshena resides here on Earth..." Rafe shrugged, then grimaced in pain as the movement obviously hurt him. "Hardly matters. I know you don't believe me."

Blair rubbed Rafe's back. "Does it matter if I don't? I mean, it doesn't change how I feel about you. Not really."

Rafe met Blair's eyes, shifting so he was sitting facing Blair more directly, surprise mingling with the evidence of pain in his gaze. "What?"

"There's something you obviously don't get," Blair whispered. "I'm in love with you, Jamie. If this is real, well, cool. If it's not... well, we'll deal with that, too."

He meant it, every word. Through his fear, through his doubt, he realized that it was true. Centered in his heart, where it mattered.

Rafe's lips curled in a thin, pained smile. "I love you, too, Blair." The moment the words left his mouth, he doubled over in pain again, his head coming to rest on Blair's thigh. His body stiffened, and he shuddered once, convulsively.

"Jamie?" The skin and muscles of Rafe's back rippled suddenly under his hand, bulging unnaturally. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Jamie... Shit!" He snatched his hand away, feeling the skin over Rafe's spine start to separate. "What the fuck is happening to you?"

Rafe didn't answer, just reached out his hand to Blair.

Blair took it, biting his lip as Rafe's fingers squeezed his painfully. He ran his free hand through Rafe's hair, crooning wordless comfort. He whispered reassurances to himself, too, as he noticed a faint glow around Rafe that was growing stronger.

"Oh, my God," he whispered. Amber light. Oh, my God. It's this place... the fox... now him... Oh, fuck!

Blair could feel a warm, wet patch spreading on his thigh. Tears, he realized, not noticing the ones that streaked his own cheeks as Rafe suffered in silence.

He watched, stunned, as what looked like feathers started poking through the bloodless opening where his hand had rested moments earlier. He fought the urge to back away, to get as far from Rafe as he could as truth unfolded before his eyes.

It seemed to only take moments, though later he was sure it took much longer, and Rafe had wings. Wings. Honest to God wings. Not white wings... His brain, ever ready to dispense its trivia, informed him that the markings were similar to those of a juvenile red-tailed hawk.

And absolutely, gloriously beautiful. 

And not human.

"Gorgeous," he breathed. He stroked along the top edge of Rafe's left wing, his curiosity outweighing his shock. It trembled under his fingers, and he gasped as Rafe spread it to its full span. "Wow..."

Rafe's hand unclenched from around his. "Blair?" he asked, his voice muffled by Blair's thigh.

Blair shook out his numb hand and helped Rafe sit up. Rafe looked as stunned as he felt, as off-balance.

"Yeah?" Blair was surprised to hear the steadiness of his voice; inside he was as shaken and thrilled as he'd been when he'd found Jim.

"That wasn't supposed to happen to me."

"Far as I know, man, no one's supposed to grow wings like that." He reached out to touch Rafe's face, wiping tears away with his fingertips. "How did you? Do they work?"

Rafe shook his head. "I don't know. I have to think." His wings moved, wafting cold air toward Blair. "It should have happened years ago if it ever was going to..." He shivered, the wings folding around him. "Fuck! It is cold out here!"

"Why?" Blair tried to figure out how to wrap the sleeping bag around both of them again, and gave up. He tugged on Rafe's arm and stood, encouraging Rafe to stand, as well.

"I... I don't have enough pure blood to do it, Blair," Rafe explained as Blair led him into the cave. "It should have happened when I was, maybe, fifteen... during puberty, at any rate. I don't..."

Blair tossed the sleeping bag onto the makeshift pallet and turned to face his lover as Rafe's voice trailed off. "You said you were stuck in 'this shape' meaning human, right? If this wasn't supposed to happen, what was?"

Rafe was silent, a tinge of amusement crossing his eyes in the lantern light, cocking his head to one side. The gesture was at once familiar and a reminder of a smaller, furrier creature with the same one.

Blair raised his eyebrow, frowning suspiciously. "Jamie?"

"Sorry..." Rafe chuckled. "I wasn't going to tell you, but since you're taking the rest so well..."

"Tell me what?" Blair stalked the few feet that separated him from Rafe.

Rafe smiled, winked, and held out his hand. "I do know 'shake', but that's not the only trick –"

Blair's jaw dropped. Red fur on the furniture at Rafe's apartment; the easy way Rafe accepted the story of how Blair found the cave; the fox's clear ability to understand him, the pieces displayed a picture now.

"You shit!" he exclaimed, his cheeks suddenly burning with embarrassment. He punched Rafe hard on the upper arm. "You threatened to piss on me!"

"Ouch! I did, didn't I?" Rafe grabbed Blair's fist and pulled him close, wrapping his arms around Blair's waist. "And you got the point really quick, too." He laughed. "Sorry, Blair, they're a rather tricky species, the Talshena."

"I'm sure you are," Blair grumbled. He slipped his hands into the warmth under Rafe's wings. "I bet you guys did a number on world religion by playing angel."

"Yeah, they did." Rafe shivered in his arms as Blair's fingers explored the juncture of wing and back. "Oh, fuck... Blair..."

He stopped instantly. "Does that hu –?" he began to ask, and was answered by Rafe's lips hot and urgent on his own, Rafe's tongue stealing the last word.

"No, it doesn't hurt," Rafe whispered as they parted for breath several minutes later. "Just the opposite, if you haven't guessed."

Straddling Blair's hips, gloriously naked, with kiss bruised lips and disheveled wings, Rafe was the most arousing thing Blair had ever seen. Like Lucifer after he fell...

"Good," Blair husked, "'cos there's no way I can stop touching them... or you..." He lightly raked his nails through the tiny feathers and across Rafe's shoulder blades, enjoying the contrast. "What do you do? What can I do to you?"

He didn't know how they'd made it to the sleeping bag, how he had lost his clothes. He didn't care. The only thing that mattered was the slick-sticky contact of his and Rafe's bodies. He was in heat; the need to fuck or be fucked, to be connected to his lover, searing away thoughts of cold and lost friends and aliens, leaving only those of skin and hands and tongues and cocks.

Rafe stopped his fevered exploration of Blair's body, licks and bites that enflamed him and gave him chills at the same time, and met Blair's eyes. "Anything." His weight shifted, leaving Blair, and he reached into the pile of Blair's belongings with a feral grin. "Fuck me..." he growled, dropping the tube of lotion on Blair's stomach.

Blair swallowed hard, sitting up and running his hand along Rafe's thigh as Rafe positioned himself on his hands and knees. "Oh yeah..." he fisted his own cock, stroking twice, growling back. "Spread your wings..." He ducked his head under the right one, licking a path over Rafe's right ass cheek.

Moaning, Rafe did what Blair asked.

Blair shivered as the large, perfectly proportioned feathers swept across his back slowly, and then he was tasting the patch of skin that had tempted him so strongly at the motel. Rafe tasted of blood and musk and sweat, and Blair barely spared a moment's thought about the blood, just a fleeting wonder about where it came from.

He slathered his erection with lotion, hissing at the chill of the slippery stuff, and then worked one slick finger into Rafe's ass.

"Just do it," Rafe ordered him, looking back over his shoulder with hot, half-lidded eyes. "I want you, not your fingers."

So long; it had been so long. The sheer heat and tightness almost shattered his control. He kept his eyes open, watching his cock disappear into Rafe's body, panting along with Rafe as he penetrated him slowly. Giving Rafe a moment to adjust to him, waiting for that one right moment, staving off orgasm by force of will. He released Rafe's hips and slid his arms under Rafe's wings to grip his shoulders.

"Blair, God, Blair," Rafe almost chanted, his eyes closed as he turned his head seeking blindly for a kiss that Blair willingly gave him, quick and rough on the corner of Rafe's mouth.

Blair buried his face in the heated down between Rafe's wings, breathing the scent of it, feeling it catch on the growing stubble on his cheek. Rafe arched under him, and Blair groaned. "Oh, man, do that again!"

Rafe chuckled. "This?" His ass clenched around Blair's cock, and his feathers brushed over Blair's arms.

Blair closed his eyes tightly as something inside him howled its pleasure. "Yes, that..." He adjusted his grip on Rafe's shoulders, and slowly started to thrust.

~~~~

The initial burn of Blair's cock inside him swiftly changed to intense pleasure. Rafe arched his back again, grinding his hips against Blair's, and Blair snaked one hand down to wrap around Rafe's cock.

"Yes," Rafe cried, thrusting into the skillful grasp. Blair's fingers matched the rhythm of the pounding he was giving Rafe's prostate, nearly blinding him with sensation. "Blair... I... Oh, God..."

It had been so long, too long since the last time he'd had sex.

But this... this was more than that. Sex with anyone had never been like this. He didn't want to think, only feel, only want more. This was primal, soul to soul rutting. His wings and his body felt like they were on fire, like he was being scorched and reborn.

Blair's sweat mingled with his, dripping stinging into his eyes, streaking down his cheeks. He turned his head to the side, tasting the salt, and Blair's teeth latched onto his earlobe.

"Love you." Blair grunted, his tongue wetly exploring Rafe's ear. "Love you..."

Rafe shuddered, gasping as Blair began to nip at the tendons of his neck. "Bite... please... love you... bite..."

Rafe groaned as he felt Blair suddenly release his erection and pull him up so they were both kneeling. His thighs were spread wide over Blair's, his wings brushing the floor. He raised them, feeling the tug as the feathers clung to the hair on Blair's chest.

"Touch yourself..." Blair ordered. One of his hands rested on Rafe's hip, guiding him to a powerful rhythm, and his other hand found its way into Rafe's hair, pulling his head back. "I want... I wanted to feel your... chest... your heartbeat," Blair huffed beside his ear, "but can't with the wings..."

"S'okay," Rafe whispered, sliding his own hand over his heart and the other around his aching cock. He'd only barely started stroking himself when Blair's hand closed around his.

"God... if you could only feel how your wings... how they feel on my... nipples. So hot..."

Rafe was close, so close... All it would take was just the right...

Blair's teeth sank into the nape of his neck, and Rafe came with a cry, amber and blue lights swirling and howling through his brain. Blair's semen scalded inside him, pulling aftershocks from him that left him trembling.

Breathing roughly, almost sobbing, they rested for a minute, Blair's head on Rafe's shoulder, one pair of their hands twisted in a sticky knot on Rafe's thigh. Nothing needed to be said; in near silence they separated, only pausing for Rafe to furl his wings before tugging the sleeping bag over themselves and curling together again.

Rafe woke to light on his face. He opened his eyes to see Blair's face inches from his own, his breath warm on his cheek. Blair's body no longer was as chilled as it had been hours earlier; his arms and legs tangled with Rafe's, his quiescent penis a soft pressure against Rafe's thigh. His own cock stirred in both memory and expectancy, and he pressed a tender kiss between Blair's eyebrows, watching a worry line on his forehead smooth away.

Blair uttered a soft sound, his hand fluttering on Rafe's chest, and rolled onto his back.

Rafe watched Blair in the dimly blue sunlight filtering through the tarp, and smiled. Blair had accepted him, what he was, so readily, so easily. Not like H would, he knew, or pretty much anyone else he knew in Cascade. Jim and Simon would have to accept that he was Talshena; there was no way around that.

But would they accept his new relationship with Blair?

He shook his head. No use wondering about that, yet. They had to determine the true fate of their missing friends first and bring them home.

Nature called, and he responded with a sigh, disentangling himself from his lover and standing. He stretched, wincing a bit at the tenderness of being so well loved and the soreness of the muscles in and supporting his wings. He still couldn't get used to the idea that he'd finally grown wings. He extended them to their full span, inspecting them, shaking out the cramps that had settled into them while he and Blair slept. A secondary feather drifted to the ground, and he watched it settle there, feeling the blood coursing through his primaries, fighting the ridiculous urge to preen himself.

He walked to the cave entrance, nudged the tarp aside, and stepped outside. The snow had stopped, and the sun shone from a chilly, clear, blue sky. No tracks marred the snow besides his and Blair's, and he closed his eyes for a moment in relief. No Talshena presence yet.

He gingerly walked a few yards to the left of the cave and stepped behind a tree to take care of business. He hurried, not wanting Blair to wake and find him gone. Besides, he was freezing. Still outside, he looked down at his scattered clothes and groaned.

"Shit."

Either he'd be wearing wet clothes, or he'd have to borrow some of Blair's. If he'd taken the trip alone, he could have gone with his original plan to set up a base camp and travel solely in fox form.

As he picked up the clothing, he pondered the idea again. No, it wouldn't work. Blair couldn't keep up with him that way, and he wouldn't leave Blair alone to be found by his kin.

He caught sight of his winged shadow and realized that clothes were going to present another problem. Damn it. If he'd changed while still clothed, the wings would have formed through his clothes. Now there was no way could possibly get fully dressed without another change. The wings had to go. After the shifts of the previous twelve or so hours, he was nervous to even try changing. For the first time in his life it almost scared him.

His clothes in a rumpled ball in his arms, he ducked back inside the relatively warm cave, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dimness before he moved back to the bed. He dropped the clothes and knelt on the sleeping bag, wanting to be near his lover if he had problems. Blair stirred but didn't wake. Keeping his eyes focused on Blair, Rafe started the change. He nearly melted with relief as his body morphed to its usual state with no pain and no difficulties.

It was well past the time when he and Blair should have been on the trail again. Now, how to wake Blair... He picked up the fallen feather, twirling it in his fingers, grinning.

Blair's nose crinkled at the delicate touch, and his hand crept from under the covers to bat at the quill. "Quit it," he mumbled, "'sleep..."

Rafe chuckled and traced the curl of Blair's ear. "Time to wake up, Sandburg – Blair." He pulled back the sleeping bag, exposing Blair's body to the chilly air and his sight.

Blair stirred, blinking at Rafe sleepily, frowning a bit. "Wasn't a dream, was it?"

Rafe trailed the feather up Blair's chest from his navel. "Not a dream." He grinned as Blair did, and leaned in to claim a kiss, tender and gentle compared to their lovemaking a few hours earlier.

Blair wrapped his arms around Rafe, pulling him down on top of him. "I am so fucking glad. Another night of dreaming would have killed me."

"You, too, huh?"

They shared another languid kiss, and Blair gently brushed his fingers over the still tender gash in Rafe's scalp. "I'm glad that neither of us were badly hurt..."

Rafe closed his eyes for a second, fighting the memory of Blair's near death, and kissing Blair with a ferocity that reflected his fear and desperation of finding him like he had. If the healing hadn't worked...

Blair met his eyes in surprise and a bit of worry when they parted. "Um, appreciate the sentiment, man," he murmured. "You're not hurt worse than you said, are you?"

"No. No, I'm not, and we've got to get going," Rafe replied, sitting up, trying to distract Blair. "We've lost half a day already. And I have to borrow some of your clothes..." He raised an eyebrow at Blair, waiting for the laughter to start.

He didn't get the expected response. Blair merely sat up, wrapping his arms around his knees, and considering him with a pensive expression.

"Jamie, do you... There's something you're not telling me, isn't there?"

Rafe sighed, meeting Blair's eyes. "Okay... I think that the Talshena are responsible for the crash, and that they have Jim, Simon, and Daryl. The longer we wait..." he let his voice trail off, hoping Blair would go for the misdirection.

Because he wasn't ready to tell Blair about healing him. Didn't know if he ever would be.

"What will they do to them?"

Rafe tried to smile reassuringly. "Nothing, I hope, but I can't be sure. I don't know why they took them in the first place." He ran the feather through his fingers, looking down at it, the filaments smooth and teasing to his skin.

Blair reached out and touched Rafe's hands, stopping him. "Then lets go." He gently tugged the feather away and ran it down Rafe's spine. "We'll find out."

~~~~

Blair toyed with the feather dangling beside his face. The small bone bead Rafe had attached to the shaft tapped against his temple. He watched Rafe trying to map out where he'd slid down the rough side of the ravine, scanning the hillside to find his pack, and licked his lips. Rafe was frowning a bit, and Blair sighed, wandering away to hunt for himself.

The Talshena were obviously more than just tricksters. He could read Rafe far more easily now, after their days together, and the man was visibly worried no matter how he was trying to hide it. The feather was only one of the hints.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the light brush of the feather against his skin, remembering the astonishingly shy expression Rafe had when he'd proposed Blair wear the decorated quill.

"Its protection may be minimal, Blair, but it's all I can give. Please..." he had implored, holding up the spare hair tie he'd attached the feather to.

"Protection? What sort of protection can this give?"

"The feather? I honestly don't know besides identifying that you're with me. But the bead..." Rafe paused for a long beat. "It will let me know where you are if we're separated."

"How does it work?" Blair had taken the fetish from Rafe's fingers and inspected the bead closely. To his fingers and sight, it was nothing more than bone, likely deer. "What will it do?"

If anything, Rafe had looked guilty. "Think of it," he whispered, "as... um... very polite scent marking."

"Where should I wear it?" he'd asked, intrigued and amused by the idea of being scent marked by his half-alien lover, to be marked with the proof that the previous night had truly happened. "If I wear it in the usual place, my hood will mangle it."

Rafe's fingers had been warm and trembling against his temple. "Here," he'd suggested with a tender smile.

The gentle tug on his hair as he toyed with the feather was reminiscent of the feeling of Rafe's fingers then, as he returned the decoration and asked wordlessly for Rafe to adorn him. He supposed the sensation would fade in an hour or so, when he was used to the feather's presence, but until then the memory would bring unbidden smiles and delicate frissons of heat through his body.

He grinned, looking around the woods. They're almost fairyland beautiful today, he thought, with the snow sticking to the trees like that. He set down his pack, sitting on it to think some more.

This was the clearing, he knew, where he'd landed. The indentation his body had left in the snow was only a couple feet away. He closed his eyes for a moment, picturing Rafe as a fox. That, even after witnessing Rafe's amazing transformation the night  
before, was still hard to believe. 

But believe it he would. Why not? He had tangible proof in his hands that Rafe had been winged. Well, in his hair.

Rafe, shapeshifter, alien half-breed, was his. He, Blair Sandburg, was in love with – and, even better, loved in return by – a guy with an eight-foot wingspan.

Love.

He'd been in something approaching that state a few times, but nothing like this. This felt real, concrete, deeper than anything he'd ever felt before.

He was done looking. As far as he was concerned, he'd found the person he'd spend the rest of his life with. He sighed. It wasn't going to be easy, but, oh Lord, it was worth it. Rafe was worth it.

He shook his head. Jim was going to flip. Not that Blair was dating a guy. They'd had that discussion early on in their friendship; Jim was straight, but totally cool with Blair's bisexuality. He opened his eyes again. No, it was just that he was dating Rafe that would flip Jim out.

No one at the station knew that Rafe was gay. As far as they were concerned, he just didn't date much – which certainly was true. As Rafe had succinctly put it, "Being a half- Talshena, closeted, gay cop doesn't make it easy to pick up guys, and you know how H is..."

In less than two full days, they'd reach the crash site. And, he realized suddenly, the Talshena. Jim would know immediately what was happening between Rafe and him. There was no getting around that. Not that he wanted to.

He ran the feather through his fingers one last time and pulled his gloves back on. He was getting chilly again after not moving for so long. He wondered if he should go back to where he'd last seen Rafe, but before he could decide, Rafe decided for him.

"Blair?" Rafe shouted.

"I'm over here," he yelled back, standing, and turning toward the voice. He waited while Rafe came over the slight rise that had blocked their view of each other, then asked, "Did you find it?" He held his breath, his hope still strong though Rafe's hands were empty.

"No luck," Rafe sighed, moving toward him. "It's gone."

"Fuck," Blair pronounced, turning and walking several feet to kick violently at a snow covered tree stump, needing to vent his frustration somehow.

"Blair, quit it!"

He almost went off balance as Rafe grabbed his shoulders, turning him quickly and roughly away from the hapless wood. "Ow, fuck! My ankle..."

Rafe looked apologetic and worried. "Did you hurt yourself?"

"No, but you just about did!" He shook his leg, testing his ankle. "It's fine; I'm okay." He glanced down at the snow after smiling reassuringly at Rafe. His footprint was reddish-tinged. "Jamie, uh, is that blood?"

Rafe glanced over his shoulder at the stump, then back at Blair, but didn't meet his eyes. "No, sap, I think," he said. "You knocked off some bark. Let's – let's just get moving, okay? We've got a lot of ground to cover today."

He tried to look at the stump, but Rafe adroitly managed to keep him from doing so. Something had happened there, connected to the two of them, he knew, and he'd get it out of Rafe that night. Somehow.

~~~~

Rafe adjusted the balance of the pack on his back and reached down to give Blair a hand up to the path. "You got it?"

"Yeah, man, I'm good," Blair panted, halfway over the edge, drawing his knee up and grimacing.

Rafe waited to make sure Blair had a secure footing before moving along the narrow trail, choosing his steps with even more care than he had the day before. He wasn't going to get reckless like he had then. He was more than halfway convinced that healing Blair had been a fluke, a once in a lifetime, miraculous occurrence. To have to test that hypothesis so soon would be far, far too much to cope with.

The sun was brilliant, blinding on the snow even through sunglasses. It made it even more difficult to find the safest way. Rafe knew it had it had to be just as hard for Blair as he tried to keep up with him, making sure his steps mirrored Rafe's exactly. Yet whenever he glanced back, just to make sure he was still there, Blair gave him a thumbs-up or a tense, determined smile.

They had another close call. At one point, while Rafe waited for Blair to narrow the gap between them, he was forced to watch, heart in his throat, as Blair clung to the cliff face while a minor avalanche dumped its tonnage of snow and rock mere feet from where he stood. It was several minutes before either of them could move again, their eyes alone conveying love, encouragement, and renewed resolve to not let the trail conquer them.

Conversation was impossible. They didn't speak until they had reached the end of the treacherous stretch, moving into relatively safer land below the tree line once more. Both of them had survived; there wasn't much to say. One shared kiss, some discussion of the route they'd be following, then Blair took the pack from Rafe, and they were on the move again.

Even then, Rafe couldn't lose the unease that the disappearance of his pack engendered. They were now on Talshena land, and he knew – he just knew – that they were being followed or watched. Any confrontation with his kinsmen could go one of two ways, and either one had its problems. He knew that Blair was sensing his edginess, but he hadn't asked about it yet. Blair was looking pensive himself, but whatever he was thinking about, it left a faint smile on his face.

They had covered a significant distance before they stopped to rest for a few minutes at the top of a low rise. Rafe scanned the area, still wary though he'd seen no definite sign of pursuit, or scented anything unusual.

"Jamie, what can you tell me about the Talshena?"

Blair's voice shook him out of his edgy contemplation of the harshly beautiful landscape and its potential threats. They'd not spoken for several hours, and both Blair's voice and the question sent shivers down the length of his spine. He swallowed hard, turning to look at his lover. "What do you want to know?"

Blair grinned at him, laugh lines crinkling around his eyes over his several days' growth of beard. "Is 'everything' too vague an answer?"

Rafe swatted him on the ass affectionately as they started down the hill. "Just a little. Want to be a bit more specific, please?"

"Okay then... um... let's start at the beginning." Blair gestured at their surroundings, pointing to the ground at his feet. "How did the Talshena get here? And when?"

Rafe stifled a grin at the fascinated expression of concentration on Blair's face. He'd seen it before, usually directed towards a book the anthropologist was absorbed in reading, and occasionally towards Ellison at a less messy crime scene. It was a little unnerving being on the receiving end of that look, he realized, being interrogated by it.

Blair would make one hell of a real detective, he thought admiringly, just for a second, before answering Blair at last.

"Thousands of years ago, Blair. Tens of thousands. And they came from Talsh on ships that were scavenged for their technology millennia ago. Earth was originally intended as a colony, but thanks to a series of cosmic events in their own galaxy, Talsh was a dead planet before they ever arrived here."

"A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away," Blair quoted sassily, easily evading the harder swat Rafe aimed at his ass, the feather dangling beside his face swinging crazily as he turned to face Rafe again. "No, sorry man... Go on. Thousands of years, huh?"

"The Talshena have been here since right around the beginning of the last Ice Age. Um... in fact, according to their history, they caused it." Rafe shrugged. "I couldn't tell you if that's true or not, but according to the documents I've seen, it is likely."

"So you guys have been living amongst us the whole time? And nobody knows?" He sounded amazed and disbelieving; Rafe couldn't blame him.

Rafe pulled his necklace out of his pocket. "Around this area..." he hesitated, "necklaces like these get Talshena all sorts of... privilege, I guess you could say. I never used it before I left, really." He handed it to Blair. "Then again, I was only 17 when I left here, and I didn't leave the enclave often before that. There are quite a large number of people who know, but they're not telling. Talshena means power to them... power of different kinds."

Blair held the simple necklace up, inspecting it, looking closely at the beads. "What sort of privileges? And what sort of power?" His fingernail tapped against the fox footprint etched into the center pendant. "Do these symbols mean anything?"

Rafe snorted. "Well, indecently high motel discounts for one. You'd be amazed how cheap that pink, pink room was... and that's in Canadian." He shook his head, still amazed at the ridiculous discount. He stopped walking, and tangled his fingers with Blair's and the necklace. "That's my lineage. Those in the know can read it."

Blair looked up from his contemplation of the necklace. "One's blank. Is that the human half?"

Rafe nodded solemnly, snaking the leather and beads from between Blair's fingers and replacing it securely in his pocket. "My father. As a human... he... he didn't count."

Something in his voice must have told Blair that it wasn't time to ask about him. Blair just nodded, squeezing Rafe's hand tightly. They started walking again, hands still linked.

"And as for power, Talshena have many talents. Their abilities and technologies are... valued, respected, and sometimes... feared. Some groups are more tyrannical than others, I suppose, less benevolent, but... doing business with these tricksters is always difficult."

He met Blair's eyes, wondering if he was being clear without telling too much. He wasn't, he surmised with a sigh, as Blair blinked his confusion. He let a bit of change- light coruscate around his head for just a moment. "Last night you mentioned them playing angel, Blair. Think of the mythology and folklore of almost any culture on the planet. They're in most of it somewhere if you know how to look. Sometimes the costs are... exorbitant."

Blair's eyes widened as he took in the import of that statement, then narrowed. "Oh, my God..." His hand tensed in Rafe's. "You're not just... here, are you? There're a lot more of you wandering... Um... You know what I mean."

"There are enclaves all over the planet, Blair. Most of the Talshena stay either at the enclave itself or in the immediate vicinity, so they're not really integrated into society. Human society, that is." Rafe sighed. "As a species, the Talshena are actually quite xenophobic. I mean, of course there are exceptions to that, but as a rule they're still uncomfortable with and sometimes hostile to the other sentient species on this planet. In fact, a few of their scholars dispute whether the Ice Age was a failed attempt to wipe out your species with weather or not. Others argue that they're behind the development of Homo Sapiens as the species it is today and kept you from going the way of the Neandertal."

"You're not shitting me, are you? They could do that?"

"Thousands of years ago, yes, they could. Not anymore though; not enough of them around now. At any rate, full humans are useful to them, useful and tolerable, mostly."

Blair stopped, yanking at Rafe's arm. "You keep saying 'they', Rafe. Always 'they'. Why? You are one of them."

"Humans are tolerable, Blair." He laughed bitterly, pulling his hand free and walking away. "Not defective, faggot half-breeds. You're more welcome here than I am in many ways."

"Jamie, wait!"

He heard Blair behind him, trying to catch up, floundering through the snow, but kept going, pushing between two pines.

"Damn it! Wait! Don't take this out on me!" Blair was angry now; frustration and a touch of hurt rang in his voice.

Rafe stopped, breathing hard, feeling the air crisp in his nostrils, eyes closed. "My fucking father was more welcome here than I am!" he whispered when Blair was beside him again.

Rafe felt Blair grab his shoulders, and opened his eyes slowly. "Jamie... I'm sorry for digging okay? I won't –"

He interrupted, "No, I'm sorry, Blair. It's just... the closer we get..."

"The harder it gets?" Blair's eyes were liquid with sympathy. "Family's rough, man. I understand."

"I don't think you can, Blair, really, but thank you for trying. I've spent over half of my life away from here, and I'm still not... The only reason I'm here now is Simon, Daryl, and Jim."

"You're sure they're –" Blair hiccuped. "Sorry. You're sure they're alive? I mean, I know why I feel that way, but how can you be sure? Just because you lived here?"

Rafe tangled his fingers with Blair's again and took a deep breath. "Because... Okay, remember how I said they can play with the weather?"

Blair nodded, looking tense and expectant, caressing Rafe's cold and trembling fingers as they started moving again.

"They can't just play with it. Sometimes they are it. That was no natural storm that brought down the plane, and the Canadians know that damned well." He grimaced. "If those remains are tested, DNA deep, they'll probably show that they are our friends, but they're not. No one flies over this area. No one. You see... the last person to fly a plane over this area was my father."

"No shit?"

"No shit. The very same thing happened to him, but no one came to get him back. Long story."

Blair gestured expansively with his free hand. "We've got nothing but time right now, Jamie, if you're willing to tell me about it."  
By the time Rafe finished his story, sticking to the details of his father's life and not touching on his own much at all, they'd managed to cover a couple of miles, and he didn't feel like they were under surveillance anymore. He sighed inwardly. Maybe, just maybe, it would be better to get the contact over with, to get rid of the hunted feeling that made his gut twist and the scar ringing his throat itch.

~~~~

"Damn, I'm starving," Blair groused when they stopped to rest at the edge of a large clearing.

"Food's easy, if you're not picky," Rafe said with a grin and a raised eyebrow.

Blair shrugged. "I've eaten some pretty weird shit in my time, man. There was this one..." His mind blanked out the story he'd intended to tell as he watched Rafe change again. The transformation wasn't something he'd ever get used to, he realized, but it would always be beautiful, amazing. He sat carefully on a fallen log, and Rafe, vulpine grin on his furry face, shook himself. "Wow," Blair grinned. "Gotta say it, man, but in any shape you are one gorgeous creature!"

Rafe snorted at him. "Hey, no bullshit."

Rafe was obviously showing off his hunting skills, Blair knew, watching intently as Rafe stalked lightly over the top of the deeper snow. He couldn't help laughing, though, as Rafe's intentional stalking turned into something far more playful. Blair didn't know much about the hunting habits of foxes, but somehow he doubted that leaping into the air a few feet, and generally acting like recreation had become the order of the day, had much to do with finding food.

"Hey, come on! Quit playing! I'm starving here!"

Rafe stopped dead in his tracks, spun, trotted closer, and shot Blair a glare he could understand completely. Something along the lines of, "I don't tell you how to do your job, do I? Shut up and let me get on with this."

Blair covered his mouth with his mittened hands trying to muffle his laughter. He'd seen that very glare before at a couple of crime scenes, but on the face of a fox it looked incongruous. So were the rolling eyes and the stuck out tongue. Blair blinked twice, lowered his hands, and stuck his own tongue out in reply.

Rafe darted away, back to his playful hunting, kicking snow at Blair.

Blair watched him more closely this time, paying attention to the seemingly random leaps. There was a method to his hunting after all, he realized, as one of the leaps sent a rabbit scurrying from its snow-covered burrow into his lover's jaws. He shivered. Somehow he'd missed the implication that having a fox finding food meant it was killed without the use of opposable thumbs.  
Rafe loped toward him with the rabbit in his jaws, dropped it, shook his head, and made to return to the pursuit of more.

"Thanks," he said quietly as Rafe deposited the dead bunny at his feet, suddenly uncomfortable with the inherent subservience of the gesture. He slid off the log to settle in the snow, bringing them to the same level, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around them.

Rafe whined questioningly at him, light beginning to gather on the tips of his cinnamon fur.

"No, you don't have to change back," Blair hastened to reassure him, meeting his eyes. "I'm okay. Just... just don't treat me... Don't treat yourself like a dog, okay?"

Rafe's left ear twitched, and another foxy grin split his muzzle as the light faded. He sat back in the snow after a few seconds' pause and proceeded to lift his right hind leg. He winked at Blair, lowered his head, and started licking himself.

Confusion burned away in a heartbeat, and Blair started chuckling again. "You... you..." he sputtered as he laughed, "That's not what I meant and you know it!" He scrabbled for a handful of snow.

Rafe bolted across the clearing.

Blair let his snowball fly at the same time he yelled, "No wonder you don't date much!"

The powdery missile burst just above Rafe's tail, eliciting a 'yip' and another leap. This time, however, when Rafe landed his head and front legs disappeared into the snow.

Blair looked at Rafe's upturned, wiggling hind end and lashing tail and gave into the mirth that was burbling up from his gut. 'That is something you will never see on a documentary,' he thought crazily as another wave of giggling took him. "Oh! Oh!" He exclaimed as he tried to catch his breath. Tears ran from his eyes to chill his cheeks, but he couldn't stop laughing, and he toppled onto his back, holding his sides.

Rafe's human weight on him, the brush of his growing-out beard on his cheek, brought him back to himself, gasping. Rafe shook snow from his hair, smiling, showering Blair's face, and giggles threatened to consume Blair again.

"Glad I could amuse," Rafe murmured, his tongue invading Blair's ear. "I love your laugh."

Humor transformed to heat immediately. Blair's cock started to harden in anticipation, and he ground his body against Rafe's. He wrapped his arms around him, blindly seeking his lips with his own. Their teeth clashed as their lips parted, and Blair groaned happily into Rafe's mouth. His lover's tongue didn't taste of anything but him; a taste he found himself addicted to already.

"God... Jamie..." he whispered huskily as they parted for air. "You're so – "

Rafe cut off what he was going to say by kissing him passionately again. Blair felt like his spine was melting into the snow; no one had ever made him so hot by simply kissing him. But the sensation went deeper than sex; it felt like Rafe was kissing his soul as deeply as body. Spinning in the delirium of sensation, he was shocked when Rafe suddenly stopped and got to his feet.

"What the...?"

Rafe held his finger to his lips, every line of his body tense and wary, his eyes scanning their surroundings and his attitude one of intent listening.

He reminded Blair, in that moment, of Jim. Swallowing hard, all his excitement, his good mood, gone, Blair obeyed the demand for silence, taking Rafe's extended hand and allowing him to pull him to his feet. They stood together for several moments in near silence. The only things Blair could hear were their rough breathing and the rustle of their clothes. The realization that the forest had gone eerily quiet sent a shiver down the nape of his neck.

"Talshena! Show yourselves!" Rafe shouted. 

~~~~

Rafe's stomach felt like it was doing back flips. Who would it be? It could be anyone. He could hear three of them; didn't recognize their individual scents after nineteen years away. Blair's hand was a comfort in his as they stood there, waiting, just waiting for either an attack or a more civilized meeting.

A couple minutes passed, but no one pushed through the underbrush to greet them. They were there, he knew, not a figment of his increasingly tense imagination, not a sensory lie.

"You knew, didn't you?" Blair's accusation was a fair one, delivered in a coarse whisper beside his ear. He winced away from its volume, startlingly loud to hearing stretched to its limits. "You did that on purpose – distracting me, I mean. You knew we were being followed."

Rafe nodded once, eyes not leaving the forest's edge. "I'm sorry," he began. "How long, huh?"

Without taking most of his attention from their watchers, he met Blair's eyes for a moment. Their blue was storm clouded with worry, and Rafe tried to smile it away. "Since we left the cave this morning at least, since we crossed into patrolled territory. I –"

"Fuck you." The curse stung. "What the hell is it with you guys, huh? What is it about me that makes you think I can't take care of myself?"

Rafe covered Blair's mouth with his hand. "That isn't it at all, Blair. I didn't want... I know you can take care of yourself." He pressed his lips briefly against Blair's ear, his own feather teasing on his cheek. "I didn't want you worrying about me... worrying about Jim and Simon." Blair's glare softened, but before he took his hand away, Rafe added, "And just now, I swear, getting dinner was my only intention."

A slender, female form detached itself from the trees, and Rafe, swallowing hard, dropped his hand from Blair's lips and took a step forward. "Oh, my God," he whispered, casting back years into his memories, adding decades to a face and pulling a name from the past. "Tesla."

"What?" Blair turned to face the newcomer, too. "You know her?"

"I did," Rafe breathed. "She's a distant cousin. Last I saw her she was twelve years old and very vehement about not needing a babysitter."

She paused there, at the very edge of the clearing for a moment, and gestured peremptorily with her left hand. A coyote and a wolf, neither of whom Rafe recognized, joined her, staying a few paces behind her as she started moving toward Rafe and Blair again.

"Know them?"

"No. At least I don't think I do."

Her exotic features, engaging but not beautiful, were set in a scowl as she strode purposefully towards him and Blair. He remembered the expression fondly from that day, decades ago; it had taken hours for that scowl to disappear, though she'd insisted that he be her baby-sitter in the future. Her eyes flicked over both of them without her expression changing. Either what she saw disgusted her, or the scowl was just the temperament of her cougar nature showing through. He could practically see her lashing tail. She was obviously no longer the engaging cub she'd been, all awkward and gangly and huge paws; he could practically smell the power coming off of her.

Rafe spared a second's glance to take in his lover's reaction to his first known full Talshena sighting – in her natural environment, as it were, all tangled hair and rough- edged, primitive-looking leather clothes. Rafe could see through the camouflage of her costume easily, and he wondered if Blair could as well now that he knew more about the Talshena. Blair's face showed his naked curiosity, his wariness, and absolutely no fear, like he was set to study this fierce-looking woman in front of him until she divulged all her secrets. His tight grip on Rafe's hand transmitted the fear he wasn't revealing to Tesla.

Tesla stopped about ten feet from them, just standing and watching them impatiently, her arms crossed over her chest. The wolf and coyote settled, bodyguard fashion, behind her, one watching each of the pair. After a moment, Tesla shifted, her motions still fluid and cat-like, dropping Rafe's missing pack into the snow in front of her. "Drop something?" she asked dispassionately.

Hearing Talshena spoken again by another person, after so long, was startling. A slight gasp from beside him made him look at Blair again, raising his eyebrow. "What?"

Blair's eyes met his for an instant. "Nothing, just... um... you talk in your sleep. Didn't know you were actually saying anything..." After a half shrug, he let go of Rafe's hand, and a tiny smile quirked his lips. "Go get it, Fox," he encouraged, gesturing to the pack. "Sooner you do, the sooner we get back home. Right?"

"Hope so," Rafe murmured and stole a quick kiss, then walked to meet his cousin with the taste of his lover on his lips.

~~~~

Rafe was brooding. Blair propped his chin on his hands and watched him, waiting and hoping he'd talk about what was bothering him so deeply. Right now it seemed that Rafe didn't even realize he was in the tent with him. Blair toyed with the feather in his hair, silent, wondering just what had been discussed so privately between Rafe and Tesla while he'd set up the tent under the watchful gaze of the others.

Things seemed optimistic, he thought, and maybe they were one step closer to going home with Jim, Simon, and Daryl. The Talshena woman and her companions hadn't done anything... overtly hostile. Nothing overtly friendly either, he realized with a sigh, listening to the sounds outside their tent and glancing at the shifting shadows cast by the fire nearby. They now had an escort. He knew that was a dangerous word, one fraught with duality. For now they were guests, but could become prisoners with a microscopic shift in attitude.

It had happened to him before, once, during a field study when the political climate heated up. It hadn't been pleasant, but being American had been an advantage. He didn't think his nationality would positively affect their situation now.  
He rolled his shoulders, trying to get rid of the tension that wouldn't go away. The silence was getting unbearable, but he couldn't bring himself to break it just yet.

The wolf, whose name he hadn't heard, paced beside the tent close enough to brush against the nylon, and Blair bristled, scooting away from the wall. Something about that... Talshena spooked him. There was a nasty edge to his stare, and Blair couldn't tell if it was personal or simply because he thought Blair was, he snorted, a lesser species.

He glared at the wolf's shadow. He didn't like the way the wolf had reacted to Rafe, either, but from what Rafe had related about how he was viewed... He sighed, shaking his head. He could understand that – hate it, but understand it; discrimination wasn't pretty in another species, either. He wanted to growl.

A movement from Rafe got his attention again. His lover was rubbing distractedly at the thin scar that circled his throat, reddening the skin there with his fingers. His eyes were closed; worry lines creased his forehead.

Blair reached out and grabbed Rafe's hand. "Jamie... stop that."

Rafe blinked at him, looking dazed. "What?"

"You're... Talk to me, man. I'm like totally out of the loop here." Blair scooted carefully closer to Rafe, feeling like he'd spook him if he moved too quickly. Rafe's eyes were haunted by his thoughts, and Blair wished desperately that he knew what to say to exorcise those ghosts. "What did she say to you?" He lightly touched the reddened flesh of Rafe's throat, feeling Rafe's pulse racing as he traced the scar with his fingertips. "What is this from?"

Rafe's fingers intercepted his on their circular path. "She told me I shouldn't have come back, Blair. I... I should have let them all still think..."

"Still think what?" Blair leaned in more closely, breathing deeply. He licked his lips, then gently pressed them against the faint scar. He pulled back after a second, listening to Rafe's harsh breathing, then started following the line with his tongue, just the tip, teasing, unable to resist the taste and feel of Rafe's skin anymore. He felt Rafe swallow once, hard.

"That I was dead." Rafe's throat vibrated on Blair's tongue as he spoke; his words buzzed harshly and quietly into Blair's ears and straight into his heart. "That I am dead."

Blair paused, not knowing what to say, what to ask. He lifted his face from Rafe's throat and met his pain-filled eyes. "You... Tell me," he breathed.

Rafe's hands both came up to cup Blair's jaw, warm and trembling a bit. "It happened a long time ago, and it doesn't matter now. It really doesn't. It's past and over. Someone tried to kill me and failed. She..."

Rafe was lying. No one brooded like that about something that didn't matter. Blair held his breath, hoping Rafe would continue without coaxing, then let it out in a soft explosive gasp as Rafe kissed his eyelids, urging him to close his eyes, and then rained gentle, open-mouthed kisses over his cheekbones and jaw line.

"She's gonna be awfully surprised to see me alive." Rafe's voice broke toward the end of his statement, turning into a laugh that was half sob.

Blair opened his eyes, pressing his forehead against Rafe's, raising shaking hands to wipe away the tears that were starting to fall from Rafe's eyes. "God, Jamie..." His heart ached, and he wished he could do something, anything, to go back nineteen years to prevent the event that was still tearing Rafe up so badly. He opened and closed his mouth wordlessly a couple times before finally asking, "Who?"

The answer stunned him. "My mother."

~~~~

_Then a hell of a lot more story happens. And I'm sorry it's not here. But it leads to a happy ending, back in that pink, pink room..._

~~~~

Blair rolled over, his hair brushing Rafe's nose. Rafe smiled down at him, nose wrinkling as he fought the tickle. Blair grinned. "So... can I get that neck rub now?"

"Whenever you want," Rafe replied.

He began mouthing along Blair's jaw, and Blair wrapped his arms tightly around him. Blair shivered as Rafe's teeth grazed just below his earlobe. "Oh, man, Jamie, I dreamt..."

"Yes?" Rafe's tongue tickled its way up his sideburn. "Roll back over..."

"Fuck the neck rub, keep doing that," Blair insisted when Rafe ground his hips against Blair's and scraped his teeth along Blair's lower jaw.

"What did you dream?"

"Oh, shit, that you... that you and I were in... oh..." Blair exposed his throat to his lover's lips. "We both were in animal form, and you were doing just... oh, shit, Jamie... just that to me."

Rafe swiped his tongue over Blair's adam's apple, up over his chin, and breathed a question over Blair's parted lips. "Then what happened?" He trailed one finger along Blair's hairline, and Blair wrapped his hand around that wrist.

The pink sheets twisted around them as Blair rolled them over, and he pinned Rafe's wrists over his head. "Then we were here, like this," Blair whispered, "and you were buried to the balls inside me." He attacked Rafe's shoulders and collarbones, and Rafe sighed happily.

"No complaints from me, Blair..." He gasped as Blair's teeth nipped a little too hard on his chin.

Blair's eyes met his for a second as he opened them. "Better not be," he said with a wink.

"Never, love." Rafe's heart fluttered in his chest as Blair's eyes softened, the humor leaving them and a sad tenderness replacing it.

Blair loosed his grip on Rafe's wrists, his tongue following the scar, so faint now, around Rafe's throat. "I wanted to rip his throat out with my teeth, Jamie, when you told me what he did to you." His voice was a harsh whisper. "I wanted to be the wolf you called me..."

"Don't. He's dead. It's over." Rafe grabbed Blair's hands, twining their fingers, and brought them to his lips. "Maybe someday you'll be able to do it."

"Yeah, maybe I will." Blair leaned down, backing up a bit so his cock better aligned with Rafe's, and kissed him. "So," he said when they parted, "you can turn into a fox, grow wings, and I'm not sure what that stuff with the weather was... Any other tricks I should know about before we get back to Cascade?"

"Oh, yeah," Rafe grinned, releasing Blair's hands and sliding his own down to Blair's ass and squeezing. His fingers slipped between Blair's cheeks, teasing.

"Yeah?" Blair brushed his fingers lightly over Rafe's chest and reached toward the nightstand for the lube. "What's that?"

Rafe moaned as Blair shifted, the pressure between them just right, his fingers tracing the small trickle of sweat running from Blair's spine and down his tailbone. "Little thing I can do with my tongue..."

~~~~~

Fini

:everything extraordinary fits into fantasy – Helen

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a serial in a series of zines. Then some unpleasant shit happened and all the heart went out of me. I loved these guys and this story and I'm still sad, all these years later. You have no idea.


End file.
